#it's a stunningly beautiful place

[byjove]

you don’t want to live here? it’s almost heaven? western Virginia? blue ridge mountains? Shenandoah River? country roads aren’t taking you home?

[liquidchocolatecake]

currently captive audience to a knock down drag out fight in my brain between desire to respect the wishes of the creator and not look for anyone redistributing the comic and god i fucking miss wonderlab i miss wonderlab so much you have no idea i want wonderlab back so bad

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Judas in the Window (18+)

pairing: priest(apprentice)!chan x fem!collegestudent!reader

genre: ANGST ANGST and smut (mdni), childhood best friends to..?

description: you return home from college, after not seeing your old town for three years. your childhood best friend has been waiting for you.

warnings: no. genuinely so sad. religious guilt, blasphemy ig, slutshaming, degradation (f. receiving), praise (f. receiving), desperation, fingering (f. receiving), humiliation, unprotected sex (do not do this shit), brief breeding kink, mentions of past unhappiness, reader has beef with her old self fr, alcohol consumption, pet names (darling, baby, some more i dont recall), LOTS of biblical references, i warned you this is incredibly sad and wether it's a good ending is certainly debatable, reader has both her parents (if u dont, same, just imagine the dad as adam sandler and the mom as gwendoline christie), the dad is the best character x

quotes from my proofreader: "i have a new pair of panties at the ready", "im horny and angry, some say hangry", "AAAAAA"

wordcount: 8.3k

a/n: it is 2:30 am. my proofreader is asleep and i might go crazy if i dont post this now, so if there are any mistakes in the last part i am sorry, ill fix it later lmao

Your room hasn’t changed a bit.

You’re not sure why the sight knocks the wind out of you. You suppose you’d thought your parents might do something with it - maybe give your dad a “man cave” or whatever other pained, heteronormative solution to hating each other. But it’s the same exact thing. Your bed, horrible orange wood, pink princess sheets, and your desk right beside you where you stand in the doorway, all cluttered with glitter pens and marker sets and a small mirror. 

“Isn’t this great, honey?” your mom squeals, old hands squeezing your shoulders. It takes you a second to reply. You’re not even sure you want to step inside the room. “Yeah, yeah, it’s great, mom.” 

“I’m getting dinner ready, you just settle yourself in!” she says, practically vibrating at your presence. She’s so happy, it jabs at your stomach with guilt, that you can’t even bring yourself to enter. You watch her disappear down the stairs, making a funny face when she catches your eye. You half-smile tiredly. Then you’re looking at it again.

It’s like a totally closed off time capsule. Your fingers play with the doorframe, looking at the stains in the carpet, that you vividly remember creating as a clumsy child. You see the stickers on your closet-door, and the faint outline of the stickers you’d taken down. You see toys, whose names you remember, you see terrible drawings over your bed, hung with glitter tape, and you see yourself. The you that you were certain you’d stuck in the dirt and buried. The one you’d worked over-over-overtime to never see again. She was somehow alive and well in this room. A part of you roamed with a horde of anxiety, birthed by the thought that once you entered, you and her would fuse together, and all the flaws you’d had would be reignited, and you would be miserable again.

“You not going in, champ?” you jump at your father’s voice behind you. You turn to see him exiting your parents’ bedroom, taking heavy, loggy steps towards the staircase. You shake your head: “No, I am, it’s just..” you pause and turn back to the room, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s weird.” 

Your father pauses. He has his reading glasses pushed all the way down to the tip of his nose, so he leans his head back and squints to study you. “Well- well- well, why don’t you just try out for a bit, champ, and if you don’t like it, Uh, well, we’ll situate you on the couch. How’s- how’s that sound?” 

You smile softly. “Sure.” 

“Alright, champ,” he pats your back and finally starts his descent down the stairs. 

You nod to yourself and exhale deeply, face now turned back to the super menacing not-at-all-menacing room before you. Your fears are deeply irrational. You wouldn’t just revert back to your old self. Once you’re half believing it, you finally break the barrier, and take a step inside. 

It’s not so bad after all. Everything is very still. Dust kicked up from your presence slows down around you. You’re standing under the overhead lamp, and it’s not that bad. Not so bad. You drop your duffel bag and sit down on your bed. 

You feel a lot bigger, sitting with bent knees in the plush duvet. You recognize that you can’t be that much bigger than when you last sat here, 18 years old, heading off to college in the big city. And this was the kind of town where neighbors a dozen houses over came to see you off, waving at you with big smiles on their faces, an american flag hoisted up to the blue sky. You remember the grins stretched on their faces, and how you’d been panicked to start the ignition on the car. They’d looked like they were made of wax.

Movement flashes in your peripheral. You turn your head, brushing hair out of the way. The movement is coming from the crack in the curtains. Like Moses parting the red sea, your fingers delicately brush the flimsy fabrics away. You know exactly what - who - you’re about to see. Your heart presses, red and wet, into your throat. 

Chan.

He’s there in the window directly across from yours. You almost don’t recognize him at first. He’s shirtless, pacing around and picking things off the floor, and, God, he’d gotten so big. His arms are so shapely and firm and his stomach is toned and when he turns his back to you, you see how it ripples with muscle, and your mouth is drooping open in shock. 

This is Chan, you try to remember (memories flit of him in his dad’s baseball caps, him on the playground, or on the sandy paths that fade out from the roads on the outskirts of town), but grounding yourself in the memories of him as a kid only serves to hurt you. No, you decide, eyeing his naked torso through the glass, better remember him like this. Like an adult who has faults and wrongs, not an innocent child that you abandon in your haste to grow up. 

He’s looking at you. Suddenly, he’s fucking looking at you. For a moment it seems like he’s confused, maybe fighting with the danger of recognizing you as a real, actual person in the window. Then his eyes are softened and he’s hunched over the paneled window, face split in half as he stares back at you. He used to fit so easily in the frame of that window - now you watch his shoulders press against the framework, unable to squeeze in. 

Your cheeks are burning when you squeeze your eyes shut and smile apologetically. Your childhood best friend who you hadn’t seen in three years had just caught you staring at his fucking abs through his window. You fear he’ll take offense, especially considering how you’d left things off with him, but when you open your eyes, he’s grinning softly and shaking his head. 

He walks away from the small window, and you take this as your cue to leave as well. You fall back on the bed and groan pathetically, body jittery with embarrassment. 

“Y/n, sweetheart! Dinner now!” your mom caws from the floor beneath you and you feel 16 again. This was what you didn’t want. All the power you had accumulated was slipping through your fingers by the minute. 

It’s just five days, you remind yourself. Just five, measly days.

“Coming, mom!”  _____________________________

The fucking bell tower is going. Over and over again and it shouldn’t be this loud, you’re not that close to the church, but it is. 

You lie flat on your back in the smoldering dark, completely still. It’s so loud it feels like it’s coming from inside your head. Like the curved, rusted sides of it are bashing against your skull. You don’t understand how anyone could sleep through this. You don’t understand how Chan could stay here all these years. Maybe that’s just because you couldn’t see yourself here.

You don’t want to think about Chan anymore, but for whatever reason - you can’t decide if it was seeing him (so manly) so suddenly, or if it’s the ever-ringing bell in the distance, like a marker of the apocalypse - he won’t leave your mind tonight. Part of you understood that what had happened with you and Chan was natural, and not particularly anyone’s fault. So why did you still carry the heavy burden of guilt? Guilt that pinched at your nerve endings like the delicate tunes in a children’s music box.

You and Chan had met as children in church. It didn’t take long for you to be best friends. You’d sit next to each other on the neatly lined benches during sermon, then you’d tumble in the grass outside, and then you’d go to his house and play until dinner, after which you’d see each other again, talking from window to window. You spent very nearly every moment with him.

Then you grew apart.

It was a slow death. Seeing each other became a sort of horrific reminder that it was ending, no longer bound by church or friendship, but a mutual understanding. There’d be a sort of solemn silence whenever you locked eyes. Is this the last time? You’d wonder, and the longer it went on, the more you started to wish that it was.

And then it was. 

It was your fault. You were 13 and suddenly you were wearing makeup and your dresses were getting shorter, and you wished you were much older than you were. You started forgetting the principles they’d taught you in church. Or maybe you’d never really learnt it, only tolerated it for Chan. But years passed and by the time you were sixteen, you were being kissed and groped at parties and you were having sex in cars and smearing your lipstick on the rims of shot glasses. 

And Chan was.. Well, Chan. Chan was a skinny, virgin christian. And you liked him, but suddenly there wasn’t much to talk about. From one day to the next, all discussable topics evaporated in your hand, and talking to Chan became a stumbling, bumbling mess. 

After that you were just…. Gone. 18 years old disappearing down the dirt roads in the 2009 Toyota Tacoma, that you’d gotten for your sweet sixteen. Chan was standing on the roadside that day, but he wasn’t sure you saw him. Your wheels kicked up dust and that was all you left behind. A cloud of sand for him to grab at, looking lost in between your tire tracks. At that moment it felt like those last years were two seconds. You just slipped right out of his hands. 

Lying in bed and your heart is so heavy. Maybe it isn’t Chan, you conclude. Maybe it’s what he represented. The face of the church; the face of goodness, of purity; the face of the life you deselected. 

The cry of the bell tower becomes a song in the night. You fall asleep in the devil’s hour. _____________________________

The following day you’re reexploring. The air is dry and the sun beating down on your shoulders. You’re walking through the suburbs and then later the small town square made up of mostly parking lots. You feel peregrine, but trudging through on the pavement, it becomes clear you’re the only one who feels this way. 

Every citizen, every single one of them - in polos, in flower-print dresses, in sandals, in sunglasses - stops you to welcome you back home. They’re shaking your shoulders and they recognize you and can tell you your name and your age, and they say that it’s good you found your way back. Every interaction leaves you more depressed than the last. You’re ducking your head, crumpled up like an unsent love letter. 

Your steps are heavy, your own sandals dragging into the uneven tiles of the square. Then you’re lifting your head from the ground, and your feet have betrayed you. 

You’re standing in the opening to another street of storefronts, and 5 rows of neatly planted trees down, the church sprouts from the earth like a stake. 

It’s not just any small town church. A few steps lead up to a plateau, supported by large, white beams. They may not be Roman, but they’re there, and they’re made of smooth concrete. The building itself is made of red brick, although the color varies and looks dappled. Each side of the church has two stained glass windows, which you remember from your childhood. The door, huge and oaken, ends in a point right beneath a round window, and the bell tower shoots up, a mighty cross at its peak. 

You’re left a little breathless at it. You don’t remember it being so menacing. But there’s also something beautiful about it. How it looks at you like it’ll kill you. And how blunt it is about it. You’re blinking at it and wondering how you got here. It’s as if something’s possessed you, because despite knowing better, you begin to take calm steps towards it, eyes transfixed and soulless. 

You’re walking into the courtyard, gravel underfoot, and then you’re traversing up the steps, fingers barely brushing over the railing. Idling forward, you’re opening the door. 

“And when Mary birthed the-” 

Crrrrreeeeeeeaaaaaaaaak!

Every head snaps towards you, as you’re cracking the door open, and the trance lifts from you. Oh, shit. Your gaze grazes over the stacked benches, smiling apologetically and bopping your head.

You clear your throat. “I’m-” 

You lock eyes with the priest, whose service you just interrupted, where he’s standing before the crowd, bible in hand.

It’s Chan. 

“I’m sorry,” you squeak, voice now much meeker, and you don’t even know what to do, so you just step inside and sit down on the nearest bench. Slowly (and with low scoffs) the sea of heads turn around. One pair of eyes don’t leave you though. Chan studies you for several seconds longer, searching for something in your eyes, but you’re looking away. You just want him to continue. He does.

This is crazy, you think, and you can hardly believe you’re hearing his voice say those words, and it’s him in the clerical shirt. You supposed it made sense. You supposed you understood. But actually you didn’t, not at all. Not when he was supposed to live and change and evolve and here he is years later, dedicating his life to the one and only thing he knows! 

You’re tuning out the rest of his talk, vaguely aware of how his eyes flit over to you a little too frequently. Soon enough you’re absently clasping your hands together in a prayer and then people are lining up to thank Chan for his stellar service. 

You watch them from your seat, debating whether or not to leave without talking to him. Leaving wasn’t a bad idea. You were only gonna be in town for a week more, surely, you could avoid him until then. 

But you know you won’t do that. You want to talk to Chan. You want to feel his hand in your own. Partially you felt like maybe you could save him from just being a decoration to this hellscape for the rest of his life. You’re not sure you could go on living your life, when you know he’s just back here - still here. 

So there you are, planted in the line and hoping to save him from some dull future, and he’s shaking hands and smiling, but you can see how he eyes you, coming up on the line. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you smile warmly, and his hand is grabbing yours and it’s so soft and so big. He’s smiling too. Then you’re coughing and correcting yourself: “Uh- Father. Chan.” 

He laughs at your sputtering, clapping your hand between his two: “Oh, thank you, sister.” Emphasizing with pursed lips and wide eyes. You laugh along a little, but it’s strained. 

His smile fades slowly, and his face relaxes. He wants to say more. His fingers are still pulling your hand to his, and you just keep shaking it, because if you stop, it’ll be weird. Officially. 

“Oh, do you two know each other?” A bobbed woman from behind you in line is purring, unfamiliar hand on your back, and she doesn’t wait for you to answer before she’s talking again: “So, how do you know each other?” 

“Childhood. Friends,” Chan stammers, almost looking at you for confirmation, and you’re nodding along when the woman “ah’s” and “ooh’s”. “Oh, that’s wonderful, you guys!” And then you’re listening to her talk about some trailer down in Cassandra, and how her brother is fixing it up with his old friend, but there’s water damage in the lining of the room, and it’ll mold if they’re not careful, and it’s such useless information, you’re wondering how you’ll ever forget it. 

“Mrs. Lark, uh, I think my,” he looks at you, lips pursed, “my friend here needs to go, so..” 

Mrs. Lark gasps, embarrassed: “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m babbling,” and usually Chan would reassure her that she wasn’t, but he has more urgent matters on his hands. “Good day, Mrs. Lark!” he says and sends her off with a bright smile. There’s a few more people in line and Chan sighs a little. 

“Can you-” he’s a little sheepish, suddenly self conscious about the clergy shirt that grips his neck, “Can you wait? Here? Just until I’m done-” 

“Yeah,” you say. He smiles gratefully. 

Chatter continues behind you with a slight echo in the large room. You wait by one of the stained glass windows, arms around yourself as you stare up at it. Each and every window was a different biblical figure, made up of small shards of colored glass. You always found it strange, looking back, how your small town church had this grand artwork. The eyes of the window peer down at you.

“Judas,” Chan comments, planting himself beside you. His voice echoes slightly in the now empty church. The whole place is both too big and too small for the both of you. “It’s an interesting choice.” 

“What?” 

“Why you chose this window over any other,” Chan breathes, eyes darting down to you, and he’s looking at you very intensely. Then, it dissipates: “I’m also drawn to this one.” 

A pause.

“I wonder why they’d make this,” you quip, feeling small beside him. “I think whoever made this wanted all sides of Jesus’ story illustrated,” Chan says. You shrug. “If it were me, I wouldn’t.” 

Chan tilts his head to the side and looks at you again. Your cheeks burn, so you smile a little cheekily. “Was that not the right thing to say?” 

Chan’s smile is gentle and bemused - almost adoring. “There’s nothing you can say in here that is wrong.” 

“I don’t think that’s true,” you laugh and Chan follows along. “Oh, you don’t?” You’re both laughing together, glee filling the crevices of the holy place, while Judas eyes you from the window. Your laughter dies down again, and when the silence returns, your heart clenches nervously. There’s a beat. 

“You keep busy?” you ask and the two of you are now facing each other. He sighs and nods, looking around. “Yeah, yeah, I got a.. Like a church get-together thing in, like, two days. I’ll be.. Preaching."

“Preaching,” you repeat, smile a little too tight. You wish you could say he didn’t notice. “Big Mr. Priest..” 

He laughs: “Technically I’m a priest apprentice,” he says, arms crossing over his chest. You roll your eyes. “So humble.” 

“What about you? Keep busy?” 

“Yeah, college,” you sigh. “You done?” he asks and you shake your head. “I wish.” 

His expression softens until he’s frowning. You want to squirm under his gaze, only because he looks so sincere and worried and you haven’t seen each other in three years. “You look tired.” 

“That’s not-” you begin, covering the slight ache in your heart with a laugh, “I just- Couldn’t sleep last night.”

“I thought living in the big city had you sleeping like a rock when you got to our quiet town,” he teases with a half-smile.

You shake your head, looking upwards at the ceiling. “It was that bell tower, just ringing, all night.” You shrug. Chan’s brows furrow and he looks up as well, as if he’d be able to see it through the tile roof. 

“The…” he trails off, sounding lost, “The bell tower doesn’t ring at nig-” 

Beep! Beep!

“Shit- sorry!” you curse, when your phone goes off loudly. Chan stands still studying you, while you squint at your phone. “I think- I think I gotta go.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he coughs, index finger rubbing over his taut knuckles. You’re pushing your phone into your back pocket again, when he reaches an arm out to you. “Uh-” he pulls back self-consciously, “Would you want to-.. Maybe, come to dinner at my place? Tomorrow?” 

You’re a little taken aback, looking at him with a softly open mouth for a moment. “Uh,” you fight back a wide smile, “Yeah, sure. I’d- I’d like that.” 

“Great,” Chan smiles too and nods. “Just- just at the house right next door, or?-”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s that one. Still,” Chan blushes breathlessly. You chuckle awkwardly. “Okay.” 

“Okay. See you then.”  _____________________________

You’re not sure why the prospect of having dinner with Chan has you so nervous. And it is just a dinner, you remind yourself, as you’re picking out your dress, just two friends catching up. After some 45 minute debate you pick out a pretty sundress.

You’d like to think there’s more to it than just the fact that Chan is suddenly very pretty and muscular. Maybe it’s the chance to make a wrong right. Maybe it’s to find out who this boy is, that was a key part of your life for so many years. Maybe you think you can change him.

Either way you’re just waiting for it all day, ignoring your dad trying to lure you out with trick shots from your garage. “HIYA!” he screams, throwing ping pong balls at your window all afternoon.

At 6:30 PM you’re standing at his door and hoping you don’t look too dolled up. His house also looks mostly identical to your memory of it. There’s something off about it though, and you study it momentarily, only to realize the front garden has overgrown. The grass comes up jagged and sharp, and the bushes bulge over the fence gate, brushing you when you waddle inside. You click the doorbell, wait a few seconds, and then begin to suspect that it didn’t work. Then you knock and you hear him fumbling around inside: “Coming!” 

He opens the door (with some struggle), and then you’re standing before each other. He’s so domestic, in a striped, brown sweater and dark blue jeans, and curly hair is framing his face like a crown. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He gives you a once over, smiling shyly: “You look great.” 

“Thank you,” you bow a little, “you too.” 

Then he’s letting you inside and you’re kicking off your shoes haphazardly, while he fusses back to the kitchen. “I made bolognese, if you don’t mind!” he calls and when you enter into the living space, he’s stirring a pan vigorously. You giggle a little, smile falling at the sight of a cross on the wall behind you. “Uh, yeah, of course.” 

Slurping tomato-sauced pasta and drinking a half-expensive wine that Chan had bought, you two laugh together. You mostly talk about when you were kids, then he’s talking about joining the church and you’re talking about college. 

“Is it hard? Out there?” Chan slurs a little, both of you tipsy and warm from the wine, having moved to the couch after eating. Now, full and face burning hot, you’re looking at each other differently. Chan’s got one arm on the couch rest, the other swirling the wine in his glass. He’s smirking a little and you hate how hot he is.

“It’s.. Exciting,” you counter, a little confused at his tone. He's close enough to radiate warmth onto you, when his eyes dip down to your lips for a second. “Yeah. You like exciting,” he drinks down the rest of his wine and sets the glass on the couch table. The moon, that’s been slowly traversing the star-speckled sky, gives the glass a faint halo. Chan basks in the moonlight, half lit and half shadowed. 

“I do. I do like exciting,” you giggle dumbly, still unsure where he’s steering the conversation. Chan smiles adoringly, because there you are sitting all blushing and warm in a sundress on his couch. The warmth disappears from his eyes then. 

“Was it exciting to watch me undress?” 

Oh.

Shit. 

You almost spit out a half-drunken sip of wine, gulping it down painfully and shaking your head. You set the glass down. “Chan! I’m-” you’re scrambling, “I’m really, really sorry. I- I was just- It wasn’t about your body, I was thinking about-” 

“Shut up.” 

Your mouth falls agape at his tone, offended and caught off guard. He’s still beside you, eyes much sharper than you remember, much colder. “Stop treating me like I’m still a kid.” 

“Well, you haven’t changed much, Chan,” you scoff. 

“Yeah, that’s why you were looking at me through your fucking window,” he scoffs as well, “because I haven’t changed.” 

You sit in quiet disbelief, trying to stay mad when his face is so pretty and so close to yours, and his jaw is clenched and his cheeks are flushed from the wine. You’re deciding whether to spit back or diffuse the situation. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry.” 

The hand that was previously holding his glass lands on your knee. He leans in even further and you smell the sour air of wine on his breath. You shudder under his touch when he whispers: “I want you to be honest with me.” 

You’re looking up at him with wide eyes, heart beating in your chest like nails being knocked into wood. “Tell me what you want from Father Chan,” he muses, smirking slightly, while his thumb brushes back and forth on your knee. 

You’re completely out of breath and squeezing your thighs together, as slick begins to build up in your panties. “Come on,” he encourages, “Let it out. Tell Channie what you want.” 

“I want,” you’re shaking in humiliation, gaze cast onto the floor, “I want you to touch me.” 

“Come again?” he teases, grinning.

“Please touch me, Chan.” 

“There you go,” he mutters and finally gives in, hand brushing the skirt of your dress up your thighs, until your white, cotton panties are visible to him. The sight of you is so pornographic, he groans and dips his head into your neck. “Spread your legs for me, baby.” 

And you do, one of them drooping over his legs, while the other bends on the couch beside you. You’re already so worked up, because Chan is so beautiful and you never, ever thought you’d experience him like this. “Shh, shh, calm down, pretty girl,” he kisses your temple, as his fingers brush over your clothed core.

“Baby,” he tuts disapprovingly, “you’ve soaked through your panties.” 

You can only whine as his fingertips ghost along your dripping slit, and he’s nosing into your cheek like a big puppy. “‘M sorry,” you hiccup, and he grins and kisses your lips tenderly. “So polite for me.” 

He finally dips his hand into your panties, fingers rubbing circles into your pussy. You’re mewling and thrashing into his chest, basking in the sound of his strangled moan, when you thrash the leg in his lap and brush over his hard cock. 

His fingers move lower to dance along your slit and you grab his wrist strenuously. He hums a little. “Gonna put my fingers in your pussy and my tongue in your mouth now,” he’s mumbling and you can’t tell if he’s telling you or himself, but either way he does as promised, two fingers plunging into your sopping wet heat, while he dips his tongue in your hot mouth.

You're moaning into his lips. He’s kissing you so sloppily, spit spilling down both of your chins, and noses rubbing together, breathing scorching air into each other. His fingers are pumping in and out of you, then curling into that sweet spongy spot inside you. 

“Fuck!” you cry when he pulls away breathlessly, “so, so, so good. Chan- Chan, fuck!”

Your orgasm is building up in your stomach, with a pleasure that is simultaneously torturous. He’s looking at you so intensely, you feel like you might unravel under his gaze. “Fuck, Channie.”

“Yeah? You feel good?” he pauses his words, still curling his fingers in and out of you. His next words are somewhat uneasy: “Is this better than those other guys?” 

“Huh?” you mumble, chest arching and his mouth is watering at how inviting it is. “Back then,” he says, and it finally clicks what he’s talking about. 

“Pussy so good no wonder they all wanted a piece of you, hm? Such a slut,” he’s rambling now, fingers plunging in and out of you impossibly fast, while his other hand splays over your stomach, thumb tapping your clit. You cry out in ecstasy, unable to form coherent words to respond with.

“But you’re my slut, right?” His voice is raspy and right next to your ear. The thumb tapping your clit begins to rub circles into it. “Y/n,” he’s suddenly very serious, “say you’re my slut.” 

“I’m-” your voice crack in humiliation, cheeks fiery and eyes squeezed shut, “I’m your slut!” 

“That’s right,” he pants, trying to stop his hips from bucking into your calf. “And my slut is gonna cum on my fucking fingers right now.” 

Your orgasm feels otherworldly - maybe godly - and your whole body shakes in his hold, chest bouncing in his face and moans melodic in his living room. Chan works you through it, finally pulling his fingers out when your hands weakly push at his own.

You’re sighing heavily with hair messy and teased, slumped back on his couch. “Holy shit,” you say, grinning from ear to ear, completely dazed. Chan is watching you with a proud smirk and a tent the size of Texas in his pants. 

A thought strikes you then, and your grin is fading and your brows are furrowing. “Wait- Wait, Chan? Where are your parents?” you ask suddenly, sitting up and straight and pulling your dress down hastily. You snap your head around self-consciously. 

“Relax! Relax!” he laughs, “They don’t live here anymore, I bought the house from them, like, six months ago.” 

Your jaw drops. You wait just a second, hoping to catch a cheeky glint in his eyes, that might tell you he’s joking. You find nothing but blackness.

“You bought the house?” 

Chan looks at you quizzically, shrugging. “Yeah, I mean, they wanted to move, you know, see new things and I.. I just. Didn’t.” 

You can hardly fucking believe your ears.

“Chan!” you cry, frustration blooming in your chest and pounding in your head. “Why did you buy the fucking house? You’re gonna spend the rest of your life paying off the fucking mortgage, and you’re never gonna get out of here!” you shout, flailing your arms at his absurdity.

Chan narrows his eyes at you. “Sorry, city girl, we don’t all wanna pack up and live in a closet space for three years-” 

“Wha- Chan, this is not about me! How can you just.. Surrender to this place?” you shout and suddenly he’s raising his voice too. “Surrender?” he repeats, spitting it back at you.

“Yeah! Jesus, even your fucking parents wanted to leave, Chan. But you’re just- You’re gonna live out the rest of your life in this shithole and be some sort of- of priest?!” 

“I can’t believe you right now,” he stands up from the couch, and you follow suit. “In what world do you have the morality to come in here and tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, crossing your arms. 

Your voices are echoing in the empty house, wine glasses and sauced plates standing idly on the tables nearby. Your silhouettes are confined to the large living room window, standing on either side of the moon. 

“You know what that means, Y/n,” he laughs bitterly. “No, please, tell me,” you invite him challengingly, wondering (or perhaps fearing) whether or not he’d actually go there. He prods at his cheek with his tongue, and hesitates.

“You were a fucking slut, Y/n.” His voice is quieter, maybe ashamed. Tears sting at your eyes, when you look at him incredulously. How could you think you knew this man? How could you think there was anything left to salvage? 

“Fuck you, Chan,” you spit, spinning around before the tears can fall. He says nothing, just stands alone in his living room while you dash out his door, hands wrapping around himself. 

Exiting his house into the cool, summer air, you realize one thing. The bell tower had been the call of the apocalypse.  _____________________________

You were the walls of Jericho that night, crying and tumbling in your childhood sheets, muffling your cries in the fear that he’d hear through his creaked open window. What was this pain, you couldn’t decide. Was it how he stayed steadfast or how you metamorphosed, dying only to return once again? 

In the morning, you’re dull and gray. You’re drinking coffee out of your dad’s old tourist shop mug from a visit to Niagara Falls, sitting at the dining table with puffy eyes. Your mom eyes you worriedly from the counter, leaning into your dad to whisper not-so-discreetly. 

“Sweetheart, you wanna go with us to church today? They’re having this whole event, the kids’ choir will be there!” she suggests gently and you just want to shrug off all her affection. 

“No,” you deadpan. Your mom gives your father a look. He sighs. 

“Alright, champ, that’s- that’s your choice,” he nods, mustache scrunching up when he pouts. You sigh, feeling like an asshole. “Sorry, I just-” 

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart, you just rest!” your mom shushes you, scrambling around the kitchen, ever in the hunt for some lost appliance. “All that college must wear you out, you should rest while you can, hm?” 

They’re gone by noon. You sit in the shadowed corner of your bed, avoiding the strip of light that dances across your room from the crack in the curtain. 

You’re bored, scrolling on your phone, cheek puffed up against your pillow, when it slips out of your hands and hits the floor with a loud bump. You groan, feeling like the whole world is against you today, and throw your arm off the bed to grab at it on the floor. 

It’s halfway under the bed, and when your fingers finally remark the smooth surface, they brush against something else. It’s hard and it feels dirty. You lift your head to look and tug it out.

It’s your diary. 

Phone long forgotten, you lift it carefully, like an old relic, and push open the faded pink cover. You feel like you’re about to snap in half, when your eyes survey the graphite-smudged pages of your horrible, horrible handwriting. The pages emanate a mysterious air that has you leaning back in your seat.

You’re skimming through angst entries, that has you cringing and wanting to put it down, before you freeze suddenly, inhaling sharply at the scribbled out words before you.

‘3. august 2016

God, I miss Chan.’

The words come with the promise of stinging tears in your eyes.

“Fuck you,” you whisper angrily at the page, because you’re crying again, and you close the book and hold onto yourself so tightly that it hurts. “Fuck that. Fuck this.” 

It’s perhaps the worst feeling you’ve ever felt. It’s anger, it’s sadness, it’s humiliation, it’s confusion. How did it end like this, you think. It would be so much easier if you were kids again. If he was that dorky kid from your church, who wore his father’s baseball caps and had chubby little hands when he prayed. You can do it better, you think miserably, if you get another chance. But you don’t. 

For about fifteen minutes, you curl into yourself and wait for the feeling to go away. It doesn’t. The heavy weight of realization pools in your stomach when you realize you might carry this with you for the rest of your life if you don’t do something. It doesn’t have to end like this.

Suddenly you’re light as a feather, grabbing your jacket and your keys and sprinting out the door and down the street. The cross atop the spire watches you run to it, awaiting you ominously.  _____________________________

You’re disheveled and pulled apart when you arrive at the gathering, and for once the townspeople look at you like you’re out of place. You’re late, you know, because people are taking their leave, scattering and dissolving towards the town square, and the entertainment (the kids’ choir), all robed in white, are marching away together. 

You’re panting, stumbling further into the church garden, jumping at the sound of grills being closed and rolled away onto the pavement. 

“Y/n?” Chan can hardly believe his eyes, when he sees you standing between a bed of lilies. You turn around and see him, melting a little at how tired and sad he looks. “I can’t believe you came,” he whispers, a little sparkle of hope in his gaze. You smile fondly, “Me neither.” 

Chan moves to embrace you, but freezes when he suddenly remembers where you are. “Uh, I can’t, I have to-” he stammers, scrambling for a solution, for something better than turning you away, when you’re here, close enough for him to hold. He looks around, gaze following the churchgoers as they pass through the gates, before he’s bopping his head down to whisper to you again: “Go into the church. I’ll be with you in a second.” 

You walk through that heavy, wooden door, and when it closes behind you the scrambling of metal and people and footsteps and crying children is gone. With the door, you’re sealed in here, with whatever fate follows.

All the light in the church is filtering through the stained glass windows, and once again you find yourself drawn to him. Judas. 

Part of you would expect such an artwork to depict Judas as greedy and grim, as glutinous and gloomy; that he would be hunched over with a pouch of shillings, giggling at his evildoing. But the Judas in the window is so.. Sad. 

He’s blue and gray and his eyebrows are upturned and for the life of you, you can’t figure out how the unknown artist must have managed to portray such despair in glass. You stand in the middle of his reflection on the floor, all blue and gray yourself, and you’re not sure it’s really because of the light.

That’s all the church inhabits at that moment. You and Judas, and your shallow breaths, and the stirring of dust in the air. There’s nothing holy in there with you. Just you and him.

You hear the door open to your right. You know it’s Chan, somehow you can just feel it. He must sense something in the air, because he says nothing, just walks up to stand beside you, and only then do you speak again.

“I always felt a bit like Judas,” you muster a breath.

Chan pauses and you can feel him looking at you. “Me too.” 

You furrow your brows, and finally look up at him, and there he is in his clerical shirt and his matching pants, his right cheek glowing bright blue. The whole room is so heavy, you lean against the bench behind you. 

“That’s not.. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Chan doesn’t ask you to elaborate. He understands. “God made it that way,” he’s nodding with a pained expression on his face, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. You laugh a little and hate how much love you feel, when Chan half-smiles at the sound.

“God.. Yeah,” you half-gesture to the sky and Chan giggles. Then you’re both quieting down again. “I can’t tell if it was you or God I turned my back on,” you say and you’re looking at Judas again, and how one, jagged hand holds onto his chest.

“Maybe it was both,” Chan says and there’s this unreadable expression on his face. You’re laughing again, cheeks apple-round. “I’m pretty sure it’s blasphemous to compare yourself to God.” 

“Yeah?” he laughs, “I think so too.” You’re looking at him again when he’s gulping hard and the joy drains from his face. A small frown curve his lips. “I’m sorry about yesterday, you know.” You look away.

“Me too,” you say. Chan can’t help the way his heart leaps when, without sparing him a glance, you grab his hand in yours and squeeze it. He squeezes back.

He gasps painfully and when you turn to him again, he’s choking back tears, face turning red. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I just wish… Fuck, I mean, we’re too different, aren’t we?” 

You nod. “We are.” 

“When are you leaving?” 

You smile disingenuously, hoping it’ll cheer him up. It doesn’t.

“Tomorrow.” 

Chan is crying, there’s no denying it now, no chalking it up to sniffles. Tears, turning yellow from the sun behind Judas’ back, trail down his cheeks and he wipes them aggressively, but they just keep coming. Deep, despaired moans bounce off the ceiling and walls of the church.

“Can I-?” Chan begins, unable to form words between his heart-rattling sobs. “I just- I need to-” 

“Yes,” you say, and there’s not a single doubt in your mind, that this is what you both want, as you take a step forward and pull his lips into yours. 

Chan’s lips taste like every color of Judas, of blue, of yellow, of gray, of green. Salt hits your tongue when his tears trail down to where you’re connected, and he’s still crying into the kiss, hands finding your waist and clutching so, so hard. 

“Please don’t cry,” you whisper in between kisses, “you’re gonna make me cry.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t stop. He’s too caught up in memorizing the way your body feels under his hands, the way you’re moving against him, the way you’re pulling him by the collar of his clerical shirt, and how your nose feels shoved into his. 

His warm hands slide your shirt upwards, burning against your newly exposed skin. You pull away only to tug it over your head. Chan whimpers when he sees your chest, cupped by your bra and he pulls you into his chest to unhook the back, head looming over your shoulder. Ear pressed to his neck, you can feel the way it contracts, when he hiccups. 

As soon as he’s done, straps sliding gently down your arms, you’re pouncing on each other again, lips meeting rhythmically in the blued sunlight. Blindly, you’re unbuttoning his clerical shirt, fingers shaking against his chest. His hands clasp over yours soothingly, urging you to slow down. 

The whole ordeal is strangely silent, even Chan has stopped crying now, and the only sounds filling the church are the brush of fabric and your muffled moans into each other’s mouths. You’re whining though, when his shirt finally pushes off his shoulders and his torso is right in front of you and under your hands. 

You whimper at the sight alone, running your hands over his arms and over his chest down to his abs. Chan smirks at you. “I knew you liked it,” he mumbles to himself, almost childishly. 

This comment slows you down, as you’re pulling back to laugh, and you’re both shirtless in front of each other, hearts huge and glowing. Chan smiles at you adoringly while you laugh, face scrunched up and eyes crescents. 

“You can’t say that when I’m trying to fuck you,” you say finally, hair a mess on your head and lips pursed to keep yourself from laughing again. Chan loves your dumb face. He takes your hands in his and rubs the palms with his thumbs. “I know.” 

“Can I-?”

“Yes,” you whisper, agreeing before he can even get it out. Chan nods and holds you, gently guiding you onto the floor, where your entire body is marbled by the light hitting the glass. Chan stands over you for a moment. 

“You’re just gonna stare at me?” you joke, but your arms are sneaking their way up your torso. “Yeah,” Chan responds, but he’s already kneeling down in front of you, moving your arms away. 

“You are so beautiful,” he says it as if it almost pains him, but he’s straddling you and fumbling with your jean-buttons, beginning the tedious task of peeling them off your legs. You want to say something snarky, but he has you breathless and blushing, all you can muster is a meek: “Thank you.” 

He looks up from his work on your jeans at that, smiling at you fondly. 

You kick your jeans off your legs, while he begins to undo the buckle of his own pants, shoving them down his legs at the first opportunity. You’re both almost naked, you in your panties and him in his boxers, and you’re wondering why he’s showing no signs of moving them off you, dick hard and scorching fucking hot against your clothed core. Then he plants his arms on either side of your head, and rolls his hips into yours.

The moan you let out is coming from deep in your fucking soul. Only something godly could pull that out, you decide, sopping fucking wet from the star-like heat it has against you. “You sound so pretty,” he whimpers and does it again. Then again and again and again, and you’re arching your back and the both of you are moaning and groaning, filling the church with humidity. 

“Chan,” you muster, sounding on the verge of tears. His head is lowered onto your breasts, panting hard into the impossibly soft skin. “I-Inside. Now.” 

Chan wants to say something sexy, but he’s so desperate for you, that all he can manage is: “I agree.” 

He’s scrambling wildly to tear his boxers off and you do the same, lifting your hips to remove your drenched panties from your core. When you’re left bare, he lets out a choked moan, because immediately your hole clenching and gushing slick onto the tiled floor. The church floor, no less. 

“So fucking beautiful, and mine. Belongs to me,” he babbles, eyes wounded, but fingers spreading your folds open, as he lowers his head to remark on them. You mewl, fingers clawing at his shoulders. “Miss you,” you squall and he looks up at your face again. “Okay,” he responds, body moving back up to your face. Then he mutters against your lips: “Miss you too.” 

He’s kissing you again, so warm and wet in your mouth and humming into you. You claw at his back and whine wildly, when his hand steers his dick through your folds, lubricating itself in your plentiful wetness. 

He pulls away and you chase after him with sorrowful eyes. “I need to see your face when I push in,” he explains very sincerely, and you somehow understand that, yes, he needs to see it. You nod.

Then he’s pushing into you. He bursts through your gates, all thick and veiny and totally raw against the walls of your pussy. He’s slow, studying your face tenderly for any signs of discomfort, even when he grimaces from the euphoric feeling. And God, your face is so perfect, all scrunched up and twisted in pleasure, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut. He will remember it forever.

He’s rocking in and out of you, and it’s slow, and it’s love, and it’s mature, and you’re moaning simultaneously, foreheads pressed together, as he fucks you into the floor. 

“Are you close, darling?” he pants against your cheek and you nod, because you are. Because it feels like your body has been working its way up to this final point, and every other milestone has just been a hillpeak on the way to a mountain. “Yes, yes, yes, I am.” 

“Good, so good for me,” he’s speeding up just a little bit, working the two of you closer and gaining leverage from his bruising grip on your hips. Your hand slides up his neck, from where he’s nuzzled into the side of your nose, and you whisper breathlessly in his ear: “Please cum inside, please, please.” 

And Chan’s head spins at that, thrusting so hard you’re entire body jerks. You, all filled with his kids, all soft and big stomached. The thought has his thrusts - now quite swift - becoming sloppy and has him spurting cum. You come at the feeling of him spurting inside you, spluttering you full of white seed, so much that it’s spilling out at the base of his cock. 

You’re both stilling, bodies expanding eagerly for air, and he’s still so close to you, still inside you, still buried in your hair, nose huffing breaths into your ear. The church is so painfully quiet, you begin to hear your own heartbeat. This was it. This was the narrow end. There was no other way. 

Lying your head on the tile and tilting it, so your eyes dance over the floor beneath you, you realize that Judas is no longer the artwork, no longer the masterpiece: It’s you and Chan on the floor, arching into each other and bathed in his light. To an unknowing outsider, the expressions you carry would also seem misplaced, just like Judas had to you. But you both know, still clinging onto each other like angels that flutter from the sky and into hell, that it was because of the end you had ensured for each other.

“I love you.” 

Chan whispers the words into your neck, voice thick. You realize he’s crying again, because you feel burning hot tears dribble down your neck, and his shoulders are shaking. You curl your arms around him.

“I know. I’m sorry. I love you too.” 

[holybibly]

Unholy thoughts of the day, my dear bunnies: You are too beautiful for Hwa to keep his hands to himself. Or, your stunningly handsome, sexy boyfriend fucks you in the bathroom during a break between changing outfits.

Your slippery, sweaty palms slipped haphazardly across the smooth marble surface of the luxurious antique countertop in a desperate attempt to grab hold of something, to find a foothold and stay put, but that was easier said than done. The soft, plush flesh of your thighs crashed painfully against the cold, rounded edge of the sink with each aggressive thrust of Seonghwa, leaving you barely able to stand upright as you tried in vain to cling to any possible surface, but with how horny you were and how deep and hard Hwa went in and out of you, it was almost impossible.

The only thing keeping you more or less upright now was your pure determination mixed with lust and desire and Seonghwa's strong, possessive grip on your hair.

The bathroom was dark, except for a narrow strip of diffuse yellowish light spilling in from the hallway through the slightly ajar door that Hwa had deliberately left unlocked. He liked it too much - the intoxicating, arousing feeling of risk, of knowing that at any moment some of the staff could see how hot and dirty he was fucking you. Deep down, that's what he wanted - for everyone to see how shamelessly and brazenly bending you over the marble counter, right on the set, during the short break between concept sets of his fashion shoot.

But in his defence, Seonghwa has to say that it's all because of you, it's all your fault that Hwa can't control himself around you, that he becomes a real lecherous animal who only thinks about how beautifully you're moaning for him while he's stuffing your pretty, sweet cunt with his thick cock.

You were just too irresistible to him, so much so that he could barely keep his hands to himself, and just like that you found yourself bent over in a dark little bathroom, your skirt pulled up to your waist and Seonghwa's thick cock buried deep in your warm little cunt.

You could barely make out your boyfriend looking at you through the mirror – his face was glistening with sweat, and the wet sheen of highlighter glittered teasingly on his sharp cheekbones; his eyes were heavy and seductive, half-closed with thick lust swirling in the black, saturated depths of his irises; and his sensual, fuckable mouth was wide open from intermittent, heavy breathing.

"Don't close your pretty eyes, angel." Hwa murmured sultrily into your ear, his moist, hot lips touching your skin with every letter he uttered. His long, elegant fingers dug greedily into the juicy flesh of your thighs as he continually thrust into you, filling the entire room with the loud sound of skin slaps against skin and the embarrassing squelching of your pussy. "I want you to see how good I'm fucking you; how your little angelic cunt takes my cock. You always swallow it so greedily, baby angel, my insatiable little slut."

The only answer you could give him was soft, incoherent sobs, which only made him laugh grimly and bite your ear lightly.

"We are so beautiful together, angel. Don't you think so, hmm? Made only for me." Seonghwa continued. Each thrust of his strong, muscular thighs made the spiral of excitement at the bottom of your belly tighten until it was almost painful.

You tried to press your chest against the marble worktop, but the rough fingers tangled in your hair prevented you from doing so, instead tugging hard at your hair and holding your head down so that you looked into the mirror.

"No! You're going to watch me fuck you, angel."

You were so embarrassed to look at yourself in the mirror as Seonghwa continued to fuck you, but his hand held you in place and kept you from looking away, forcing you to watch your soft body tremble with each powerful, deep thrust of his hips. Your mouth was open, breathing heavily like a cat in heat, your eyes unfocused and clouded with lust, barely able to process what was happening, just letting Seonghwa use you the way he wanted. Seonghwa, on the other hand, was completely entranced by the sight in the mirror, trailing wet, messy, open-mouthed kisses down your neck until his chin relaxed and rested comfortably against your shoulder. He slowly licked his plump, slutty lips and continued to watch as he stretched you along his massive, veiny length, practically purring with pleasure.

Hwa's thrusts became more erratic, his ragged, loud breathing and dirty curses ringing in your ears every time the thick, rounded head of his cock kissed your cervix. You knew he was getting closer, you could feel his hips tightening and his movements becoming more jerky and abrupt as he continued to mercilessly fuck you into the luxurious antique tabletop.

It only takes a few moments before you feel his warm, thick cum pouring into you, coating your silky, quivering walls with a thick layer of milky icing, the sweet relief in his trembling voice as he moans in your ear making your little hole clench around him, holding him inside your сunt as you milking his thick, velvety cock to the last drop.

You haven't come yet, but that didn't bother you, because you knew that Hwa would make up for it later when you were alone, but again you were wrong. As soon as he comes out of you, he crouches down behind you, his fingers lewdly parting your plump labia, making you whimper in embarrassment as Seonghwa sees his cum leaking out of your sweetly fucked hole.

"I'll clean that up for you, angel. We don't want to ruin those lovely lace panties, do we?" Seonghwa whispered hoarsely, making your stomach clench with excitement. His hot breath tickled your tortured slit, making your thoughts flash with a new need, knowing exactly what he had planned for you next.

[bucketbueckers]

FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER

pairing: azzi fudd x fem!reader

content: language, slight cheating (deserved? 🌚), messy, toxicity, gaslighting, angst (w a happy ending bc angst without a happy ending makes me want to jump)

wc: 9.2k

synopsis: The unspoken truth between you and Azzi was that the two of you weren’t just friends. There was always something more, something that lingered just beneath the surface, something that was so glaringly obvious to your mutual friends yet something neither of you wanted to fully acknowledge. You thought that it was safer this way – keeping your relationship with Azzi strictly platonic, saving the both of you from an eventual heartbreak. Unfortunately, it seems that a toxic girlfriend you weren’t quite committed to was actually all it took for the two of you to give up on trying to stay away from each other.

notes: this was supposed to be a lighter read but 💛 anon said i should make a really angsty fic and well. who am i to deny the people. this was not originally going to have as much plot as it did but my fics never stay on track 🌚 also this is a little all over the place so im sorry!!! as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

For as long as you’ve known her, Azzi Fudd wasn’t just your friend. There was always something more between you. Gazes that lingered a little too long, a hand on a waist that burned in the most pleasant way possible, softer smiles that seemed to be reserved only for each other.

You met her during your freshman year – she was a freshman, too, a little wide-eyed and definitely out of her element at the crowded frat party. You were only there for “team bonding” and you quickly realized that “team bonding” meant your teammates were going to get plastered and you’d have to be the babysitter. You’d spotted Azzi from the corner of your eye while you were rummaging through the refrigerator for a water bottle, and, in a rare moment of smoothness where you didn’t stumble over your words because Azzi was drop dead fucking gorgeous, like stunningly beautiful, you’d asked if she wanted a water, too. She told you yes. For good measure, you stole a bowl of hummus and some pita chips from the pantry, asked if she wanted to get some air, and that was that. She told you her name under the glow of the porchlight and you told her yours through a coughing fit (which she’d been endlessly amused by) because the hummus was spicy for whatever reason – either way, you and Azzi had an instant connection, one that went a little deeper than hummus and chips at midnight and an easy conversation you’d never expected to have with a stranger, and frankly, you were a little too scared to give up what you had with her to ever think about acting on your growing feelings.

So, you never did. You never let anything slip – never gave any sort of indication that occasionally, you jolt awake late at night, your skin burning with what feels like the phantom press of Azzi’s lips against your skin. You don’t tell anyone how you’ve spent years organizing that little compartment in the corner of your brain that’s dedicated purely to Azzi – the meticulous system of filing cabinet-esque thoughts and facts about her; you know that you store her favorite color right next to her coffee order, only three rows down from vivid images of her smile, the dimples on her cheeks, the slight pout of her lips.

If anyone asked, Azzi Fudd was just your best friend, and you were hers. It seemed as though Azzi was none the wiser – or perhaps she was too polite to say anything otherwise, or maybe she’d felt the same way, too, and was just as afraid of ruining your friendship as you were – no way that was actually the truth, though. Despite your best efforts, you weren’t as subtle as you thought. Paige was convinced that you and Azzi were meant to be. Caroline always glanced at you meaningfully when you and Azzi walked into the room at the same time or when she caught you staring at her from afar. It was as though you and Azzi were just one big inside joke that everyone was in on but the two of you.

It’s a late night at Ted’s when you find yourself nursing a drink at your usual table. Paige had stolen Aubrey and Ayanna away to play some pool, KK, Jana, and Ice were dancing, and Azzi and Caroline went to the bathroom to freshen up. In times like these, you wish you were just a little better at saying no to Azzi – there’s something in the air that’s bringing your mood down and you can’t figure out what it is. It’s like a heaviness weighing down on you, a sort of dread that fills your veins. You’re sure the liquor isn’t helping either. Granted, you’re only a few sips in, not one to ever progress past tipsy, but you’re not really feeling the night out. Azzi had gazed at you with her big doe eyes, lips drawing into a pout. You figure you’d have a better chance at fighting off a bear than living with yourself after denying Azzi something.

“Hey–”

You can’t help the way you startle, lost in your thoughts. Azzi’s tinkling laughter reverberates in this small bubble of space you’ve created in the back corner of the bar; despite yourself, your lips curl into an amused smile, Azzi’s presence alone enough to lift your mood. “How’s the brooding, Batman?”

Huffing out something akin to laughter, you roll your eyes a little, sliding over in the booth to let Azzi in. She sits, eliminating the space between your bodies completely; you swallow, trying to not fixate on the way her shorts ride up on her thighs as her skin presses against yours, and Azzi? She’s the perfect picture of nonchalance, taking a sip from her drink like she’s completely unaware of how she’s turned your brain into mush. “Not brooding,” you argue. You don’t comment on how weak your voice sounds. Blessedly, Azzi doesn’t either, but she sets her drink down on the table to gaze at you. 

Her brows draw together when she asks, “You okay?” Her fingers brush across your cheek and up your temple, which makes all of the blood rush to your head. “You’re feeling a little hot. You sure you’re not catching whatever bug Kayla and Jana had?”

You try for a chuckle, but even that comes out unconvincing. “Might be the alcohol,” you deflect, knowing full well that the two and a half sips you’ve had weren’t even enough to get you buzzed. The truth of the matter is that after a while, this just gets exhausting – pretending that you weren’t completely head over heels for Azzi. She’s your best friend. It’s easy to hide your feelings during the day when you’re both occupied – Azzi with basketball, you with softball – but things change at night. You’re looser, less-restrained, and all of the walls you keep up during the day to keep your feelings at bay come crashing down. Everything just feels so much more stronger and part of you starts to wonder if it’s worth it anymore – harboring your feelings. Maybe saying them out loud would be enough for you to start working through them and finally get over Azzi. Maybe you could finally be just friends again and you could spend time with her without hyperfocusing on how each and every one of your nerve-endings light up with activity at the slightest brush of her skin against yours.

Then, Azzi’s smiling at you, something soft and warm and mischievous all at the same time, like she’s got a trick up her sleeve and she knows that you’ll spend hours trying to figure out what it is. Her next words surprise you, moreso when her hand circles around your wrist, intertwining your fingers. “Come dance with me,” she requests.

Your throat bobs as you swallow, glancing at her hesitantly. “What?” you say smartly.

Azzi rolls her eyes, standing and pulling you to her feet. “I said–” She plants her hands on your shoulders and all you can really do is let yours fall to her waist, your fingers catching on her belt loops, “–come dance with me. You’ve been sitting too long. No wonder that half a shot of alcohol is kicking your ass.”

“It was like two shots,” you shoot back, but you let Azzi drag you across the room. You catch Paige’s eye as she leans over the pool table, lining up her shot, and she gives you a knowing look that just makes your cheeks heat up all over again. If you never got the chance to tell Azzi how you’d felt, you were sure that Paige Bueckers and that big ass mouth of hers would find a way to slip up and tell Azzi herself. “And you know that bartender uses that strong tequila.”

“I think you’re just a lightweight, babe,” Azzi states, pulling you into her space as she leads you to the beat of the music. You try to not focus too much on her words, but babe has begun to circulate through your mind on repeat, bumping into things haphazardly. Before you know it, one of your last remaining brain cells has caught the word in a jar like a butterfly and has stored it in that compartment in your brain next to everything you know about Azzi. The jar is tucked onto a shelf, only a few rows down from your filing cabinet system; one day you’ll worry about just how much space in your brain is dedicated to Azzi Fudd, but as her hands burn marks into your skin, guiding your body against hers, you find that you don’t really care.

Neither of you say anything as you dance along to the song. You can feel the bass in the ground, reverberating through your body as it races up your spine. You feel Azzi’s hand splayed across your waist, her grip firm, like there’s some sort of unspoken promise that she’d lose it if you weren’t in her personal space at all times – she spins you around, your back to her front, and the drag of her fingertips against your skin makes your head dizzy. Her breath tickles the back of your neck, her voice sweet as she hums in tune with the singer through the crackling speakers.

It’s in times like these that everything fades away – your hesitation, your insecurities, the worries that Azzi may never truly reciprocate what you feel for her. All you can truly focus on is the gradually lessening space between the two of you, the cloud of her perfume in the air, each and every one of her whispered lyrics and the smile she presses against your temple. You’re not sure if there’s a chance in hell that you’d be able to get over her. But for now, that’s the least of your worries, far too lost in the warmth of her palm against your bare skin where your shirt has ridden up – until you’re dragged back into the real world.

Azzi’s grip has tightened on you, but you barely register it as you open your eyes to see who has interrupted you. It’s a girl, probably around your age, hair dyed a red so dark that it’s nearly brown. She’s wearing a form-fitting black dress, and sure, she’s conventionally attractive, but Azzi has had your attention for nearly four years; you can’t think or look at anyone that’s not her. When the redhead asks Azzi to dance, a hopeful smile on her face, you feel your stomach churn immediately. It’s enough to sober you up fully – drunk not because of the alcohol, but because you’d allowed yourself to fall into Azzi as if the two of you were actually together. You’re reminded of the fact she’s just your best friend. The way she’s holding you means nothing. You feel Azzi’s gaze on you, but before she can say anything, you extract yourself from her hold, smiling unconvincingly at her, and you’re too unfocused to notice the way her face falls.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” you say, nodding meaningfully to the redhead as bile pools in your throat. “You have fun, okay?”

You’re gone before Azzi can say anything else, unwilling to look back. You push your way through the crowd to the bar, swallowing back the humiliation and the fact that despite everything, a part of you still yearns for Azzi, and you motion to the bartender, requesting another drink. You dig through your wallet for your card, fingers trembling, cursing under your breath when it refuses to slide out of the little pocket it’s nestled in.

“I got it,” someone else says. You glance up to see an unfamiliar woman offering her card out for the bartender to swipe. She flashes you a charismatic smile and in return, all you can do is raise your brow.

“You didn’t need to do that,” you say, but you slide your wallet back into your pocket, anyway.

“Seemed like you needed a pick me up,” she says, shrugging a shoulder. “Saw you dancing with that girl over there – I was hoping she wasn’t your girlfriend, because I’ve been wanting to buy you a drink all night.”

You take a cautious sip, glancing back into the crowd of people, your eyes finding Azzi immediately. She’s dancing half-heartedly with the redhead, a generous amount of space between the two of them, and she seems to feel your eyes on her because she turns her head, locking eyes with you. You stare for a beat, then avert your gaze, making eye contact with the woman before you. She’s blonde, easy on the eyes, and she seems nice enough. Why not? “We aren’t together,” you state – although you wish you were – and her smile seems to grow.

She tells you her name – Alex – and the two of you dance for about fifteen minutes until Jana, with the grace of a bull in a China shop, interrupts to complain about a tummy ache and that everyone needs to go home. You weren’t sure where she got the logic on that one, but Jana had seemed desperate, and you weren’t going to tell her off in front of Alex.

You and Alex exchanged numbers. Still, she was nice enough, but she wasn’t Azzi. Maybe she was what you needed to get over Azzi, though. Conversation flowed nicely between the two of you and you had some things in common. Maybe you could grow to like her. Maybe you just needed to find someone the opposite of Azzi – blonde, boisterous, and short – to get over the crush you had on her (though you weren’t stupid enough to actually think it was a crush).

Azzi drives you home after Ted’s that night. You’re both silent for the first few minutes until she speaks up. “Did you have fun?” she asks cautiously. You don’t need to ask her to clarify – you know what she means.

You also know that you can’t lie to Azzi. You’ve never been any good at it. She glances at you from the corner of her eye and you feel yourself sink a little further into her passenger seat. “Would’ve had more fun with you,” you confess, watching as some of the tension melts from her shoulders.

“Then why didn’t you?”

You shrug a little, picking at your cuticles. You know exactly why you pushed her away. You just weren’t strong enough to admit it to her. “The redhead seemed to like you,” you say softly. “You don’t have to spend all your time with me. You can like…see other people. Do shit. Have fun. I don’t wanna be your clingy best friend.”

Azzi’s jaw ticks as she signals left, coming to a stop in the turn lane as she waits for the light to change. “What if I want to?” she murmurs. “Spend time with you, I mean. It’s not clingy. It’s just us.” That’s kind of the issue. You don’t voice that thought out loud, trying to ignore the rapid pounding of your heart, too. She speaks again before you can, her voice coming out in an almost petulant huff. “I don’t even remember her name.”

At that, you choke on a laugh, finally lifting your head to look at her. “Whose?” you ask. “The redhead?”

“Yeah,” Azzi confirms, pressing on the gas once the light turns green. “She wasn’t you.”

You swallow thickly. “Alex’s not you, either,” you whisper.

Azzi makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. “Alex,” she repeats, like she’s in disbelief. “Do you like her?”

You shrug again, noncommittal. “She’s…nice,” you say. “And she bought me a seven dollar drink, so…” Azzi doesn’t find that as humorous as you did, her lips drawing into a pout, one you would have teased her for had the situation been less tense. “Az, what’s the issue? I was with her for like, twenty-five minutes. I’m not getting married to her.”

That makes Azzi fall silent again, contemplating her next words. “No issue,” she says, clearing her throat, as if sobering back up. “I’m sorry. I think the alcohol made me moody.”

You don’t comment on how she barely made it through her first drink before switching to water, but she didn’t comment on your lies and deflections, either. “It’s okay,” you say, summoning the courage to nudge her gently. She glances at you once more, a soft look on her face as you say, “Who’s brooding now, Batman?”

That makes her roll her eyes, giggling under her breath before she refocuses on the road. The tension in the car dissolves as she turns on your shared playlist, continuing to drive. For a moment, it feels like nothing is wrong. Tonight was just weird. There’s nothing going on between you and Azzi. Then, your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with a text notification from an unknown number. It’s Alex – letting you know that she enjoyed getting to meet you and that she’d like to see you again. You feel the unmistakable feeling of dread wrap its iron fist around your heart. Too caught up in your own reaction to the message, you don’t notice how Azzi’s knuckles turn white as they grip the wheel.

Against your better judgement, you do see Alex again. You stared at her message for a few hours, trying to come up with one good reason why you couldn’t give her a chance, but your mind came up blank every time. She was nice, attentive, had a good sense of humor, and she was wholly focused on you when you’d spend time together. Still, no matter what, you couldn’t shake the image of warm brown eyes from the forefront of your mind. You tell yourself that it’s not supposed to be an overnight change. You don’t love someone for four years and expect it to go away. So, you give Alex that chance (even though it feels so wrong), and she treats you to a few dates over the course of three weeks.

You get to know her. At the very least, she’s a good friend and a charismatic date. She tips well, makes you laugh, and she has an adorable little weiner dog named Bruiser (“Legally Blonde style,” she’d said jokingly, which did make you laugh, mostly because Bruiser, despite his name, was dressed in a cute pair of pink pajamas). By the third date, you start to feel a little hopeful that you’re finally making progress. Alex doesn’t push you – she seems to understand that you want to take it slow, which is something that you’re grateful for. She hasn’t asked you to be her girlfriend yet, either, which is also something you’re grateful for. Becoming her girlfriend this early feels too real, like the idea of you and Azzi is something that you’re fully leaving in the past. Keeping up the facade around Azzi does weigh on you, but it’s become something that feels like a core part of you and being without it feels wrong.

Speaking of Azzi, you don’t tell her too much about the Alex situation. She doesn’t ask much about her, either, a barely concealed look of irritation clouding her features whenever her name is mentioned. She hasn’t told you that she doesn’t like Alex, but at this point, you think her telling you is more of a formality than anything else. It’s clear as day that she hates Alex’s guts, although you don’t suppose Azzi will ever tell you why.

Maybe you’ll be better off this way – having one part of your life that doesn’t revolve around Azzi – well, doesn’t revolve completely around Azzi. Hopefully this little bit of independence will be good for you. This feels more like blind reassurance than actual confidence, but you’ll take what you can get at this point.

As you and Alex spend more time together, something changes with Azzi. At first, it’s nothing serious and you hardly even notice it. Azzi’s texts come a little more frequent, your FaceTimes a little longer. It’s miniscule especially because you and Azzi already text frequently and you spend hours on FaceTime together, but it’s more like a concerted effort to keep you with her and talking to her for longer periods of time. You’re not exactly sure why, although you’re not complaining; you’ve always enjoyed your late night phone conversations where Azzi loses her filter and rambles on and on for hours about the funny things that happen at practice or the latest picture of Stewie that her mom had sent her. You do have to admit this change in behavior makes it a little more difficult to get over Azzi – the constant proximity and speaking isn’t doing you any favors – but you can’t just abandon Azzi because you’re talking to Alex now. Your goal is to go back to a complete, platonic friendship with her, not ice her out completely.

Azzi’s behavior does progress, though. Still, it’s subtle – she’ll come over to your apartment more often or invite you over to hers more frequently. You’ll spend the night watching movies, giggling over the shitty acting or singing along to the Disney movies that Azzi ropes you into watching with her (as if you’d ever say no to her). It ends with her convincing you to stay over or her coming up with a slick excuse how she should just stay the night since her apartment is so far away (that you see right through – Azzi Fudd is a lot of things but a good liar is not one). Sometimes she’ll leave behind a shirt or a hair tie at your apartment; when you ask if she wants you to bring it over, her response is always the same: “Nah, keep it. I don’t have enough space in my closet for that shirt,” or “I noticed you were running out of hair ties anyways – you should just keep it.”

(When Alex comes over, she’ll notice each and every new addition, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Azzi left her sweatpants this time?” she asks, gingerly moving them from the foot of your bed to your desk chair. You don’t notice the bothered look on her face as you hum.

“Yeah,” you say, not thinking much of it. “She said she has too many.”

“Right,” Alex hums, not quite convinced. “You don’t want any of mine?”

Confused, you glance at Alex, busy folding your own laundry. “Your what?”

Alex huffs quietly. “...Forget about it.”)

Then, the behavior ramps up. Azzi is touchier, borderline clingy, which is different because you’re usually the clingy one between you and Azzi. It’s not that obvious when the two of you are watching movies at night – she’ll just lean against you, her head on your shoulder and a leg slung over yours, but in public? She’s almost possessive, always needing to be in contact one way or the other, a firm arm wrapped around your waist at all times. When tipsy randoms approach you to ask to dance, she doesn’t even let them finish their sentences before she’s tightening her arm around you, shaking her head with faux sympathy, and saying, “Sorry, she’s spoken for.”

In public is one thing. But in public when Alex is around is when Azzi really shines. You and Alex aren’t official yet, which is something that Azzi seems to take advantage of. Azzi buys all your drinks, glancing at Alex when she smiles that honey-sweet smile and says, “C’mon, you know I got you, right?” She always whisks you away to dance before Alex can get the chance to, and to be honest, you let her. Deep down, you know that you’d rather be doing this anyway – dancing with Azzi, letting her pull you close like she’s trying to stake a claim or prove something to someone, letting her whisper the lyrics in your ear and the both of you laughing when she starts making up her own words because the actual ones don’t make any sense.

You don’t think much of Azzi’s behavior until Alex calls you that night when Azzi’s in the shower. Alex offered to drive you home, but Azzi stepped in to let her know that you’d be staying over with Azzi to watch a new movie that had recently come out – you weren’t aware those were the plans, but you didn’t mind, either. You’re doing your skincare at Azzi’s vanity when your phone rings. Part of you is tempted to let it go to voicemail, but Alex had seemed bothered, and while the two of you weren’t official yet, you didn’t want to be an asshole.

“Hello?” you greet, pressing the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you rub in your moisturizer. 

“Hey,” Alex says. You hear her exhale sharply. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I don’t really know how to, like, explain this, but I feel like you keep blowing me off for Azzi,” Alex states, which makes you pause in your movements. “I feel like Azzi is jealous – of me – and she keeps trying to, fuck, I don’t know, worm her way in between us to keep you away from me? And you just let her do that shit.” You’re silent, letting her words echo in your brain, but she keeps speaking before you get the chance to. “I know she’s your friend. But ‘friends’ don’t behave like that. She’s one day away from pissing on you like a dog to mark her territory and I just need to know – do you even like me? Is this going anywhere? Because I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. I’m trying to be nice about it but at this point I can’t tell what you want from me.”

You open your mouth, then close it, looking vaguely fish-like in the mirror. You can hear Alex’s breathing from the other end of the line as you try to gather your thoughts. Finally, you settle, and gently you say, “Azzi is my best friend.” You can almost visualize Alex’s eye roll, the soft huff that she thinks the microphone doesn’t pick up on. “She’s not jealous. Just…protective, I guess. She’s not trying to get in between us – we’re just always close like that.”

“Then tell her to chill,” Alex says frustratedly. “It’s making me feel like I’m the other woman – like I’m just something you’re stringing along in case Azzi gets bored. Did she ever act like this before I started taking you out? Why is she suddenly so obsessed with being all over you now that she doesn’t have all of your attention?”

“Alex,” you say calmly, surprising yourself. “I am not your girlfriend.”

She laughs bitterly from the other line. “Oh, it’s like that? What, I take you on a few dates and it didn’t mean shit to you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you hiss. “You don’t have a claim over me. You’re acting like a dog trying to mark its territory. You are not the other woman. There isn’t even a woman. Ask me to be your girlfriend – or don’t – but leave Azzi out of this.”

Alex doesn’t say anything for a few beats until she scoffs. “Okay. Whatever. Have a good fucking night – I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hangs up without a second word. You roll your eyes, huffing, dropping your phone face down on the surface of Azzi’s vanity as you continue your skincare routine.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Azzi’s voice startles you, which causes you to groan and Azzi to giggle. She murmurs an apology as she comes up behind you, resting her palms over your shoulders, her thumbs pressing into your shoulder blades pleasantly. “Everything okay?”

You shrug, sighing again as her fingers work out the knots in your back. “Alex is just being weird,” you say, grunting when her fingers dig in harder than intended at the mention of her name. Azzi whispers another apology, softening her motions.

“What’d she say?” Azzi coaxes.

You meet her eyes through the mirror, seeing nothing but concern and a willingness to help on her features. “She just…I don’t know. She said you’re ‘one day away from pissing on me like a dog trying to mark its territory.’”

Azzi’s jaw drops, pausing in disbelief for a moment until peals of giggles fall from her lips. Her amusement makes you feel a little bit better about the situation. “Gross,” she says.

“I know,” you agree. “She thinks you’re trying to get between me and her. I told her there wasn’t even a ‘me and her.’ She hasn’t asked me to be her girlfriend.”

Azzi snorts. “How’d she take that one?”

“She told me to have a good fucking night and that she’d see me tomorrow.”

“Yikes,” Azzi says.

You hum again. “Yeah. I’m not really bothered, though. Don’t really wanna deal with it right now. She thinks you’re obsessed with being all over me and that you’re possessive. I said we’re just best friends, like we’ve always been like this?” It’s then that you catch onto Azzi’s sudden silence. Concerned, you turn in your chair to look at Azzi directly. “Az? You good?”

“You know you could do better than her, right?” Azzi’s words surprise you. Your jaw falls slightly, brows drawing together in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Azzi emphasizes, “what’s so good about Alex?” She spits her name like it’s poison. “She danced with you one night at a bar and thinks that makes you exclusive. She’s jealous, possessive, and she doesn’t even try to be cordial to me, Paige, Jana, or anyone. You could do so much better than her. You know you don’t have to settle.”

“I’m not settling,” you argue, even though you know you 100% are settling because you can’t have Azzi.

Azzi gives you a knowing look, one that softens when she sees the confusion in your features, the angst, the insecurity that no matter what, the decision you’re making isn’t a good one. “I just feel like I’m losing you to her,” she admits in a whisper. “That you’re gonna choose her over me.”

“Az,” you breathe out, your heart aching. “I’d never do that. You’re not gonna lose me.”

“I feel like I already have,” Azzi says. She swallows, her eyes searching yours, and she takes a deep breath like this conversation is physically destroying her. She shifts, staring at the wall instead of you, and the way her next breath comes out in a shudder makes you feel like she’s realized something damning. “I don’t… I like being us. Before there was an Alex. And I know I don’t have a claim over you – but it feels like things are changing faster than we realize. That we’re changing and I can’t even figure out why or what’s different because you’re with Alex.”

You soften, standing to face her fully, and you cup her cheeks, pulling her attention back to you. “We aren’t changing,” you promise. “You’re still you. I’m still me. Alex won’t change that.”

“Do you even like her?” You falter, not expecting Azzi to ask you that, and your silence is all the answer she needs. “Why are you with someone you don’t even like?”

“I’m not with her,” you say weakly, but Azzi is shaking her head, pressing on.

“You don’t have to settle,” she reminds you again. “She is not your only option.”

You can’t tell if Azzi is trying to convince you or herself of that. You don’t have the courage to be honest with her, to tell her the real reason you’ve spent so long trying to make yourself believe that you truly liked Alex. So you don’t. Instead, you whisper, “Do we have to talk about this tonight?”

Azzi’s face falls slightly, but you hardly notice it, too caught up in the way your heart nearly pounds out of your chest. She nods, stepping back, and she clears her throat. “Yeah. Whatever you want.”

You can recognize the look in Azzi’s face from a mile away. Softening again, you reach out, wrapping her in a tight hug, one that she immediately melts into. “Thank you,” you murmur into her neck, her skin still a little warm to the touch from her shower. She doesn’t say anything in response to that, instead tightening her arms around your waist, and exhaling deeply.

Alex asks you to be her girlfriend the night after your conversation with Azzi. She’d showed up to your apartment unprompted, bouquet in hand and an apologetic expression on her face. “I was out of line,” she’d said, sincerity in her features. “It wasn’t right of me to get upset or accuse you and Azzi of what I accused you of.” Your heart was pounding out of your chest while she explained herself, apologizing and making it right all in one, but the way your heart raced wasn’t out of anticipation. It wasn’t because you’d spent so long wishing that Alex would ask. Your pulse thrummed because of pure dread and adrenaline coursing through your veins. This wasn’t what you wanted. Not at all. You wanted Azzi – you’ve wanted nobody else but her for close to four years.

But Alex wanted you. Azzi didn’t. You needed to get over her. So, feeling as though you’re making a terrible decision you may never be able to come back from, you say, “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

For a while, things are okay. Azzi clearly isn’t happy with you and Alex now being official, but your friendship stays the same. You try to split your time between the two of them, not wanting to feel as though you have to make a choice between your best friend and your girlfriend, and for the first month that you and Alex are together, it works well enough.

At least it does until Alex decides that it’s not enough.

It’s a Friday night, and you’re supposed to go over to Paige’s dorm to hang out with her and the rest of the team. They’d had a nailbiter game on Thursday and between practices and exams, you all just wanted to take the time to spend together and relax. KK was supposed to be bringing her Switch and you were looking forward to beating Paige’s smug ass at Mario Kart.

“You’re seriously going out?” Alex says from her bed, where she’s been watching you touch up your make-up in the mirror.

You resist an eye roll, not really wanting to argue, so calmly, you explain, “I’m just going to Paige’s to hang out with the team.”

“Feels like you never want to make time with me anymore,” Alex complains. You don’t respond to that, focusing on your mascara, until she speaks up again. “Is Azzi gonna be there?”

Your hand falters, smudging against your cheekbone, and you sigh in frustration as you dig through your clutch for a makeup wipe. “She’s on the team, so yes, Azzi will be there.”

“You do know you’re not with her, right?” That makes you stop moving completely, sliding the wand into the applicator. You turn to meet Alex’s gaze, who seems proud at having elicited a reaction.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not with Azzi,” Alex repeats, as if you needed a reminder. That’s the reason why you’re in this fucked up mess anyways, trying to make yourself like someone who’s not actually the woman you love. “So why do you keep running back to her at the end of the day? You’ve been friends for, what, four years now? If she wanted you, don’t you think she would have done something about it by now?” Despite the anger bubbling in your chest, embarrassment also blooms on your cheeks. “I want you. She doesn’t. Stop chasing her and running away from me – it’s not going to change anything.”

For that, you have no true response, your heart racing. You just feel trapped now. This isn’t what you wanted at all, but you feel like you’re too far in to quit now. “Stay in with me,” Alex states. It’s not a plea, not a request. It’s a demand – and for a moment, you think maybe she’s right. You’re still her girlfriend. You have to spend time with her. 

You text Paige, letting her know that you can’t make it tonight. Her response is swift, an over dramatic series of crying emojis followed up by a message that makes your heart constrict – “Az was lookin forward to this all week, she’s gonna crash out lol.” You don’t really know what else to say, so you just send Paige another apology before powering your phone off, knowing that as soon as Azzi finds out, you’re going to be the first person she calls.

You and Alex curl up on her couch, browsing through Hulu for a show to watch. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders feels wrong. It’s too stifling, too possessive. It’s nothing like the way Azzi would wrap her arm around you – making you feel safe and grounded all at once. Alex is nothing like Azzi and in the beginning, you thought that was just what you needed to let go of Azzi. Now, it feels like giving up Azzi feels like giving up a part of yourself.

Another month passes by in a blur of daily disappearances, shitty excuses, and daydreams of soft brown eyes and a dimpled smile. Anytime you’d try to make plans with Azzi or her teammates, Alex would remind you of all the reasons why you shouldn’t. You’re with me – not them. Why did you pursue me if you were just going to discard me? And at a certain point in time, the edges start getting blurry. You can’t even remember if you’d truly made those promises to Alex in the first place.

Azzi tried to reach out a few times, but Alex’s watchful eye had creeped into every facet of your life. She was there to pick you up from your practices. There wasn’t a single plan you’d made that she hadn’t carefully looked over and approved – most of them she invited herself along for, just to make sure you wouldn’t stray too far away. Weeks passed and you couldn’t remember the last time you had a life to yourself that wasn’t corrupted by every inch of the woman you’d danced with at the bar.

Escaping feels too difficult. Lately, it feels as though Alex knows more about you than you know about yourself. She strings you along just to yank the chain, leaving you unmoored and choking around a collar you were sure you’d fastened yourself. She’s devoted and loving one moment, cold and apathetic the next when she feels as though you hadn’t done enough to earn her affection. She’s attached at your hip for one week, then leaves you drowning the next when she suddenly ghosts, leaving you wondering if you’d truly had a girlfriend at all.

The irony isn’t lost on you. Alex had accused you of stringing her along for the ride to get over Azzi, and now here she is. You don’t think she’s trying to use you to get over someone, but perhaps she’s punishing you for the way you’d chosen Azzi at every opportunity at the beginning of your relationship. You’re doing the time now, you suppose, although every morning you wonder if and when your sentence would end; you hope that Alex would grow tired of you one day and finally dispose of you. You weren’t sure if you had the confidence to drag yourself out of this mess despite how easily you threw yourself into it.

“You know Azzi’s like, in love with you, right?” Alex asks you one day. You’re sitting at the table, poking at your chicken and spinach mindlessly. Your girlfriend sits across from you, arms crossed and plate clean. Her words make you falter, your fork stilling, and you don’t glance up, not wanting to confront the expression on her face. “I recognized it the first night at the bar. She was all over you while you were dancing, holding you like she owned you. When she went to dance with someone else, it was a complete shift – she didn’t even want that other girl. Just you.”

At that, you glance up finally, searching Alex’s eyes. They’re cold, nothing like the Azzi’s warm brown that you’d spent years memorizing the exact hue of. “What are you trying to say?” you ask, because you truly don’t understand her point. Doesn’t she understand that she’s won? That she’s broken you down, separated you from your friends, that she’s interwoven herself into the very fabric of your life? What else could you have for her to take?

Alex shrugs, a picture of nonchalance, but you see the tension in her shoulders anyways. “I just want you to know why I’m doing this,” she says, which makes a cold feeling course through your veins. “I don’t want to be the bad guy. You know that, right? I just want to protect you, from someone who wants to take you from me. Azzi couldn’t take care of you like I could. She always had this agenda from the very first night we met. Do you understand that?”

Your fingers are trembling around your fork. “Alex,” you whisper, drawing her attention to you. Her head cocks like you’re a wounded animal on the side of the road and she’s studying you to determine if she should leave you – or at the very least, move you out of harm’s way. You know her, though. She’s the type of person to keep on driving. “I’m tired. Can we not do this right now?”

Her lips curl into a smug, self-satisfied smile, because she knows. She knows she’s elicited a reaction, even if it’s not as obvious. She knows that she’s won this round. She stands, leaving her plate behind, and she looms behind you as her hand trails across your shoulders. Then, she leans in, planting the barest of kisses to your temple that makes your body tighten with barely concealed fear and dread. “I’m just trying to look out for you,” she whispers, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “One day you’ll understand what I’ve done for you.”

She leaves and it’s only then that you allow your body to relax. Exhaling deeply, you bury your head in your hands, feeling tears of anguish and frustration building at your waterline. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You don’t need to look at it to know who it is. Azzi has been trying to reach you for a while. She hasn’t given up, but you haven’t had the energy to text her back, to tell her about what’s going on. Now, you think you might have to take that chance.

That night, while Alex snores unknowingly next to you, you collect your bag and all of the clothes stored in her drawers. With quiet footsteps, you exit her apartment, already reaching for your phone with trembling fingers as you dial the one number you know will pick up at any time. It barely rings once before the line clicks through.

Azzi’s greeting is a murmur of your name, both in disbelief and ever present relief. “Azzi,” you say back, your voice barely reaching her. “Please come pick me up.”

“Do you want water? Juice?”

Azzi’s voice cuts through the haze in your brain. When she picked you up, neither of you had said anything, but you’d hugged her tight enough that she groaned a little, which made you smile for what feels like the first time in forever. She let you into her apartment wordlessly, took your bag to her room, and sat you down on the couch.

“I’m okay,” you say. All you really wanted was to feel comfortable in your own skin again, but being in Azzi’s presence is doing wonders for you. You can’t help but feel a bit of residual guilt – all of this could have been avoided had you been braver, if you’d denied Alex from the start or if you could just muster the courage to tell Azzi that you’ve been in love with her for four years. “Can we just…can we go to bed?”

Azzi nods quickly, murmuring an affirmative, and she links her hand with yours as she leads you down the familiar hallways. It shouldn’t bring you as much peace as it does, but holding Azzi’s hand makes you feel like you’re a sailor coming home after a long voyage and finally spotting the lighthouse in the distance. Azzi’s bed is a welcome comfort and you fall into place next to her, feeling the tension melt out of your shoulders.

You can feel her next to you, the warmth of her body, the smell of her perfume in the air, and you feel your heart ache all over again. This was where you were supposed to be. Not with Alex. Even if you and Azzi remained friends forever and you kept your feelings for her close to your chest, it would still be better than going through these past few weeks with Alex on repeat.

“I missed you,” Azzi admits, her voice cutting through the darkness in the room. She shifts. You can feel her eyes on you, so you shift, too, coming face to face with her.

“I missed you too,” you whisper, watching as a soft smile spreads across her face. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You swallow thickly. “For everything. For Alex. For leaving you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Azzi promises. Hearing those words is like coming up for air after being submerged for so long. You don’t know if she knows just how healing it was to hear her say that. Her hand finds yours, squeezing you gently. “I’m sorry for not doing more to help you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shoot back, a coy smile on your face, which makes Azzi giggle.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Azzi murmurs.

You think that you should – that you owe it to yourself and to Azzi to be honest about the last few months. So you do. Azzi listens to you as you start from the beginning, outlining the course of your and Alex’s relationship and where it derailed. When you finish, Azzi’s face is full of concern, sadness, and a slight determination. She’d apologized again. You told her it was okay, mostly because it was okay. You would be okay.

“Do you love her?” Azzi asks a few beats later, perhaps a bit selfishly. 

“No,” you confess, feeling Azzi relax against you. “I never did.” She nods, and you both fall silent for a moment until you speak up again. “Az?” She hums, her fingers brushing against your skin. “If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth? Alex said something earlier and I’m…I’m just tired of feeling like I’m crazy.”

“Anything,” she promises. 

“Do you love me?” The words come out less composed than you’d been trying for, your voice cracking at the end, but you don’t really care. You need answers. You’d spent so many years loving Azzi from afar, but for Alex to say she’s confident in Azzi loving you back? This could change everything.

“Of course I do,” Azzi says, her words a little jilted. “You’re my best friend.”

You feel your heart drop, but you press forward. “Not in that way, Az.”

You can hear her breath hitch. At first, you’re not sure if you’re going to get a response, but she tightens her grip on your waist, and admits, “Yeah. I love you.”

Silence encompasses the both of you. Azzi doesn’t push – she never does, and that might be one of the things you love most about her. She lets you process that revelation on your own. At first, a part of you wonders if it was truly that easy in the first place, if all you ever needed to do was ask Azzi. The fear of her saying anything but yes outweighed the hope. Now that you’ve heard it, you can’t deny how much lighter your chest feels, the hope that swells in your chest. “Say it again,” you request.

“I love you,” Azzi swears, her voice a little firmer this time, her hands holding onto you like she’s afraid you’re going to disappear completely. “I love you. I have for years. Seeing you with Alex almost destroyed me.”

Feeling a little braver, you sit up, moving your legs to straddle her waist. There’s nothing inherently sexual about it, but the sheer closeness makes you feel a little more grounded, especially when her hands steady you by the hips. “I’m sorry,” you say again, your voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning.

“Don’t be,” Azzi murmurs, her thumb brushing against your hip bone.

“I was only with her because I thought I could get over you,” you confess, which makes her jaw relax, her face soften. “God, Az, I’ve been in love with you forever. I didn’t think I could have you.”

Despite the heaviness of the moment, Azzi’s lips quirk into a fond, relieved smile. Her hands leave your hips, fingers brushing your arms as she trails them up. She hooks a finger into the collar of your shirt, pulling you down to her as she whispers, “You have me. Completely.”

You’re not thinking about the consequences as you finally kiss Azzi Fudd – you’re not concerned about the fact that technically, you have a girlfriend that you’re technically cheating on, nor are you concerned about what this means for you and Azzi. The logistics are a problem for you tomorrow. Azzi sighs against you, her lips insistent, fingers tangling in your shirt – and to be honest, it’s a pleasant paradox. Alex is a taker in every definition of the word, but Azzi swallows each little sound you make against her lips, pressing firmer against you to take everything you’ll give her, but there’s a bit of mutualism in the way you and Azzi simultaneously take and give.

One of her hands releases your shirt to cup your cheek, her palm warm against your skin as it rapidly heats. You’re both passionate, a little desperate, but despite it all, the love between the two of you is palpable – you can feel it in your heart and the way it swells; it courses through your veins, leading you home, reminding you that this is a love you’ve spent years harboring and cultivating. 

People always say your first kiss with someone you love is a little earth-shattering, that it’s like fireworks or coming home. To you, this kiss with Azzi feels something like freedom. It feels like you don’t have to keep any more secrets from her or yourself.

Azzi breaks away, her chest heaving and her breath warm against your lips. “I love you,” she whispers again, holding you tighter, insistent. “Leave her. Please.”

You’re nodding before Azzi has even finished her plea. “I will,” you swear, kissing her again. You grin when Azzi chases you, pressing one last kiss to your lips before a soft smile spreads across her features. “I love you.”

Azzi doesn’t say anything in response to that – she doesn’t have to. She presses a kiss to your temple and you stretch out across her body, her arms wrapping around you once more. You fall asleep next to her feeling free and at peace – you’re not quite out of the woods yet, but you’re almost there, and you have more moments like these to look forward to with Azzi.

She has an early practice that next morning, so she’s gone before you’re awake, but you know what you need to do. You walk the short distance to your apartment, make yourself a coffee to mentally prepare, and you send a quick text to Alex – ignoring the fifteen unread messages she’s sent between the hours of 2am to 7am – telling her to come to your apartment so you can talk. You don’t wait around for a response. You get a trash bag and start collecting all of the shit she’s left at your apartment during the time you were together – clothes, toiletries, a lone coffee mug (that you’re sure shatters once you drop it into the bag, but you don’t really care).

All of Alex’s belongings are secured in the trash bag when there’s a knock at your door. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, dragging the bag behind you as you step up to your door. You open it halfway, raising a hand and making an annoyed noise when Alex tries to walk in. “No,” you say firmly, “stay outside.”

A look of annoyance flashes across her face, but she does as you’ve commanded, crossing her arms. You reach for the bag, throwing it haphazardly behind her. “So, here’s what’s happening,” you begin. “We’re breaking up.” She opens her mouth to say something, but you cut her off with a raised hand again. “I don’t really care what you have to say. We’re done. This is all you’re getting from me. Lose my number and get fucked.”

Unceremoniously, you slam the door in her face, locking it immediately. You bury your head in your hands as your pulse pounds against your ribcage, but as you listen to the sound of her footsteps fading away, that familiar feeling of freedom returns tenfold. You could cry with relief, although you don’t, pulling your phone out of your pocket. You’re free now, and you know who your first call will be to.

Azzi picks up on the first ring, sounding a little out of breath as she greets you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you respond, feeling the smile creep up onto your lips – you’re sure she can hear the excitement and the relief in your voice.

And she does. She laughs a little, sounding relieved, too. “I’m on my way,” is all she says, bidding you one last goodbye before she hangs up.

You can’t get rid of your smile, and thankfully, she only keeps you waiting for about fifteen minutes. She opens your door with her key and walks in like she’s been here hundreds of times before – which she has, because there’s no part of your life that is complete without Azzi in it. She spots you immediately. You stand up from the couch, dropping your phone on the cushion, and you meet her in the middle.

Azzi is a little sweaty, disheveled from practice, but you don’t care as her arms encircle your waist, pulling you flush into her with pure relief in her laughter. You wrap yours around her neck, standing on the tips of your toes to reach her. You kiss her, something softer than the first one you’d shared the night prior. You feel her smile against your lips, which only makes you smile, too, your noses brushing against each other as you both share a breathless little laugh. She tightens her grip around you and you can’t find it in yourself to mind – you know that Azzi is always going to be there to protect you, and finally being hers after all these years is something you know that you’re not going to screw up – you did your time.

[luv-lock]

Hiiii!!! I love alien reader so much but I've got some questions about her and mark's babies-

Do they stay fairy sized forever? Or do they like slowly grow to be mark/reader sized?

Also how strong are they? Like they're part viltrumite so maybe they're more powerful than the normal Qu males- also do they have reader's powers?

Final question- can reader like decide their genetics while in the womb? Reader can change genes and DNA as if it's as easy as breathing, so can she choose how the children come out? If they look more like her or mark? If they stay tiny?

Sorry for all these questions I'm just so invested in this universe you've made with Qu! Reader

Keep up the awesome work! Stay healthy and hydrated!

Alright, so let’s break this down properly—

1. Growth Stages

Pregnancy & Birth (0-2 years in the womb)

When she’s pregnant, the babies are tiny little tadpole-like things.

Seriously, they just float around in there, no limbs yet, just wiggling in the amniotic fluid.

This is why she doesn’t have a big belly—they’re small and compact, so to outsiders, she just looks like she gained a little stomach fat.

After two years, they develop tiny hands and feet.

No fingers. No knees. Just cute, rounded stubby limbs.

When they’re born, they are palm-sized, fairy-like beings that look exactly like their mother.

Silver hair. Glowing crystal eyes. Tiny, delicate features.

They are small, round, chubby little creatures with huge, curious eyes.

Their hands and feet aren’t fully formed yet—they have little nubs, no fingers, no knees.

Early Childhood (0-30 years) – Slow but Weirdly Adorable Growth

Their growth is extremely slow compared to humans and Viltrumites.

Ages 0-10:

They slowly start developing fingers, proper feet, and more human-like features.

Their teeth start growing, but it’s just eight small, cute little teeth at first.

Still tiny, still fairy-sized.

Ages 10-20:

Teeth get sharper. They get actual fangs now.

Their faces become more defined, looking more human but still eerily perfect.

They start walking properly, but their movements are still fluid and alien-like.

Ages 20-30:

Now the size of a two-year-old human child.

They have fully formed fingers now.

More fangs come in. They smile like little predators.

They start running around and climbing on things.

Adolescence (30-100 years) – Becoming Dangerous

Ages 30-45:

They now look like a 5-6 year old human child.

Taller, stronger, and extremely graceful.

Curiosity peaks—they start asking weird, existential questions about life, death, and reality.

They bite things.

They’re basically toddlers with the strength of a god.

Ages 45-80:

They now look like 10-year-old children.

Extremely fast learners.

They start testing their powers—learning to manipulate their own DNA like their mother.

They start fighting for fun. (Mark panics.)

Ages 80-100:

They now look like teenagers (15-16 human years).

This is when they start feeling attraction and developing sexual needs.

More independent, but still attached to their mother.

Adulthood (100+ years) – The Final Evolution

At 100 years old, they now look like a 19-20-year-old human and have reached full maturity.

They are stunningly beautiful—otherworldly and ethereal with inhuman grace and movement.

Fully powerful, fully developed, and now ready to carve their place in the universe.

Now that her children have finally matured, she can get pregnant again.

Technically, she could have more kids earlier, but since Mark is her mate, raising hundreds of children would be impossible at the same time.

2. Strength & Abilities

Physically as strong as a Viltrumite.

Can fight toe-to-toe with Mark.

Have human emotional depth and willpower, making them more unpredictable in battle.

Female Qu genetic healing factor.

Normal Male Qu heal fast, but they can't regenerate entire limbs. These kids can.

Even if they lose their head, they grow it back. (Mark is horrified.)

Inherited their mother’s genetic-manipulation abilities.

They can change their own genetics at will.

Can survive in any environment.

Can modify their strength, appearance, and biology on instinct.

They don’t even need food if they don’t want to—they can just reprogram their bodies to sustain themselves differently.

Essentially, They’re a New Hybrid Species.

Not quite Viltrumite.

Not quite Qu.

Something entirely new.

More powerful than both.

3. Their Appearance

All the children look exactly like their mother when born.

Silver hair. Glowing crystal eyes. Ethereal features.

Mark: "Why don’t they look like me at all?"

Answer:

Her genetics are dominant.

Her womb does it automatically—it’s not something she chooses, it’s just how Qu biology works.

Qu are religious beings, and they don’t believe in altering their own children.

Even though she CAN change DNA like it’s nothing, she refuses to modify her own offspring.

4. Parenting Challenges

Mark: "THEY CAN LIFT A CAR."

Mark: "THEY HAVE FANGS."

Mark: "THEY WON’T STOP BITING ME."

The babies love biting things.

They randomly float around the house like weird little ghosts.

They stare unblinking at people for hours.

They don’t sleep. (Mark is horrified.)

They glow in the dark. (Mark is extra horrified.)

They climb the walls and ceiling like little demons.

Mark: "I AM A FATHER TO TINY FLOATING MONSTERS."

[margraviate-of-headcanonburg]

I’m somewhat of a ‘location scout’ in another fandom of mine and I loved this post so much it made me search through Pinterest for an hour and a half, finally declaring Mapperton House as the IRL doppelgänger of the British fam countryside estate

(along with the ‘work house’ in London and the ‘family/friends house’ outside but nearby, I can see Arthur also having a real cottage-cottage up north in yorkshire for just him and Fran relaxation)

Hey I have this headcanon about where Arthur would probably live.

I can imagine that Arthur probably has 2 homes back in England. The first is a cottage out in the English countryside, probably in Berkshire or Surrey, someplace that’s removed from the urban sprawl of London but not too far out from civilization. This may have been an estate a long time ago but now it’s just a quaint cottage that houses some relics and memorabilia that he owns throughout the centuries. He usually prefers to stay out here to get away from the hussle of his job, and is a pretty private place of his. No one outside of his immediate circle, which I think includes Francis, his brothers, Alfred, Matthew, and other close friends like Port, have ever been to this place. It’s very special to him.

The second place he owns is actually based on the neighborhood I stayed in when I was visiting my cousin in London last year! He also owns a flat in North London that he uses when he has to report in for work for the both the Prime Minister and the King when he’s needed. I can imagine him living in this area of North London called Hampstead (my cousin who lives in London lives here and it’s this very pretty and charming little neighborhood), which has these Victorian flats with nice gardens in the back. I took a ton of pictures when I was in London last year and they’re below. But I can imagine him staying out in his garden, sitting at a table, drinking tea and reading the morning papers. Hampstead also has this massive park called Hampstead Heath that I imagine he likes to go on walks whenever he’s there. I can see him and Francis going on many walks through the neighborhood and through the Heath when they are in London.

And honestly Francis loves both places! He thinks the London flat is charming and exciting to be at. Although he teases London in front of Arthur, deep down he loves the city’s vibe and culture. But he also loves going to Arthur’s cottage. There’s something so relaxing about being away from work out in the countryside - especially for Francis since he only owns an apartment in Paris.

Sorry for the rambling, I just had a lot of thought on this, I hope you don’t mind! But here are some pictures I took while I was in Hampstead last year!

Ahhh I LOVE THIS 💖 I can definitely see him having a home in the city and one in the country because there are two Arthur's in my head: the stuffy London gentleman and the grumpy countryside grandpa. Like it’s so easy to imagine him dashing down the steps of his town house to catch the tube to work wearing his tweed suit and a bristling scowl, briefcase in hand, leather satchel over his shoulder.

But at the same time, city life definitely overwhelms him sometimes and it is just as easy to picture him in his plaid pyjamas, dressing gown, and slippers; night cap set to a jaunty 30 degree angle; and a woolly blanket over his lap as he falls asleep in his William Morris armchair in front of the TV at 8pm (although lets be honest this would happen regardless of his geographical location, but there is something so peaceful and idyllic about the countryside that makes this hit different. And actually, if he were in the city, he would be falling asleep at his desk on top of a pile of paperwork…)

Sometimes I imagine his only residence to be a cute little cottage but I can’t quite let go of the image of him squashed into a tube carriage, headphones in - probably listening to Queen - and, despite the grotesque glower, he is in his element. It also makes a lot of sense for him to live somewhere closer when going to work (low-key shuddered at the word king but hey ho) but he is a quaint little cottage guy at heart.

<3

As for Franny, of course he has his Paris appartement with an unparalleled view of the Eiffel Tower, and he spends a lot of time there (work, meetings, dates with Arthur/Alasdair) but I also imagine him having a beautiful Provençal country house in which he spends most of his time. Just like Arthur, I think Fran has two sides: the chic, sophisticated fashionista of Paris, and the equally chic and sophisticated fashionista of the countryside asdfgsfghj. I just like to imagine him in his moderately sized bastide, sipping wine on a deck chair in the sun, working on his tan, and falling asleep with a book on his lap.

And of course he is always inviting his close friends around for dinner, including Arthur and his brothers as well as Al and Matt, among a few others! And when he is not living there, I think he would let friends/family/people he trusted stay there gratis. And tbh it is a big house and I don’t imagine he would enjoy rattling around in it alone very often so he always has someone round to keep him company be that platonic or romantic...

Like just imagine all the summers he and Arthur would spend there. Fran is in his element here, but Arthur? Well, he gets uncomfortable when the temperature breaches a modest 25 degrees. He will burn as red as a tomato even with factor 50 and Francis will laugh and poke fun at his sun-dried boyfriend but will ultimately look after him very well ❤️‍🩹

Also since we are here, this is the car he drives.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods I

masterlist - part II

Pairing: Caracalla x femaleReader, Geta x femaleReader

Summary: You catch the eyes of the twin Emperors despite doing everything possible to stay out of their way.

Warnings: mentions of blood

Word Count: 2k

The air was unusually cool and still. Perhaps you should have recognized then that things would soon be different, that the Gods themselves were waiting with baited breath. They intended to be entertained.

Palatine Hill was not always so quiet, not even in the evenings. Servants, such as yourself, were kept busy with cleaning and cooking and entertaining nobles. Tonight was different, though, and you gripped the water jug tightly as you padded along the empty halls.

Your duties typically kept you in the kitchen, preparing food and keeping it tidy. A recent bought of sickness has travelled around the servants' quarters and pushed you to take up duties you usually wouldn't. Duties that forced you to emerge from the places overlooked by many and into the eyes of dangerous people.

The jug was damp under your hands, condensation trickling from the outside and moistening your hands. You suspected it was also sweat. The halls of the imperial palace were not welcoming and you wanted nothing more than to duck back out of sight. The gentle cloak of night was just that - gentle. You yearned for something heavier, thicker, that would guarantee safe passage back to your quarters.

Unfortunately the sickness had seeped from the servants and into several of the nobles. Lady Lucilla herself had come down with it and you had been tasked with taking her medicine-infused water to her personal quarters. Into the lion's den, so to speak.

It was not Lady Lucilla that you were afraid of. There were others with rooms not so far from hers. You had heard things- orgys lasting well into the morning, participants emerging bruised and occasionally bloody. Stories of an unstable Emperor and a controlling one. Rome was not safe right now, perhaps the palace was more dangerous than the streets.

Andrea spotted you and waved you from the shadows. "I have been waiting!" she hissed. She had no patience for your shy nature. "Are you forgetting that my Lady is sick?"

"Of course not," you replied evenly, passing over the jug.

Andrea took it and peered into it. Satisfied, she nodded and slipped back into the room, pushing the heavy door shut behind her.

You sighed. It was too much to expect a thank you. Swiveling on your heel, you began the journey back to your quarters. Without the burden of the jug you quickened, the bottom of your dress creating a pleasant breeze around your ankles.

This area of the palace was far better decorated than where you typically roamed. Grand busts lined along the wall, elegant traces of gold defining grooves and patterns. Marble that gleamed enough that you could see your own harried reflection in it. Although you wished to stop and take it in, it was more of a reminder of exactly where you were and how you did not belong.

You were so occupied with your own thoughts that you almost missed it at first. Slowing as much as you dared, you tilted your head and listened. A tiny, almost discernable squeaking noise. It came from your left side, beneath the table.

Fists tightening, you took a slow step towards it. A stunningly beautiful cloth was draped artfully over it, so you could see nothing. The noise came again and your heart jumped. What if it was a child? You would be in trouble if you did not return them safely to wherever they belonged, servant or otherwise. And what if one of the Emperors or Macrinus stumbled upon them? It did not bear thinking about.

You cast one last hopeful look around. There was no hero offering themselves up to raise the cloth. It would have to be you. You got to your knees and held your hand in front of the tablecloth. There was a stark difference between the expensive, soft fabric of the cloth and your servants hands.

You couldn't stand to wait a single moment longer out in the open like this. Grabbing a fistful of the fabric, you raised it in a jerky motion.

Breath rushed out of you in a pathetic wheeze. The monkey - of course, the damned monkey - worse still, she was accompanied by her master.

Emperor Caracalla gazed up at you with watery, red rimmed eyes. His hair was disheveled, as though he had tried to sleep and had been yanked from it. He did not seem surprised to see you. Before you could utter an apology, he had secured a hand around your wrist and yanked you under the table alongside him.

Your forehead grazed painful against the underside of the table and you curled in on yourself to avoid it. Still, Emperor Caracalla said nothing. Your heart felt seconds away from clawing its way up your throat and you found yourself thinking of something your mother had said to you once long ago. Fear would only make it worse.

"Emperor Caracalla," you whispered, "is there someone I can get for yo-"

"No!" the word burst out of him, startling you with its ferocity. "No, there are only traitors and wicked liars, thieves who wish to steal my empire from under me."

His hand had left a bloody smear on your wrist. His own were splattered with it too, and you tried hard not to think of all the rumors. Tried hard not to think of where the blood had likely come from.

His thighs were warm beneath you. Only the thin fabric of your dress kept you from actually touching. How had you gone from hardly setting eyes upon the Emperors to this?

Panic began to creep further up your spine. You had only heard things about the moods that sometimes overtook Caracalla and even then they were littered with half-truths and exaggerations. You had never been able to make sense of them, and crouching before him now made it no easier.

"Perhaps," you relinquished, "but tonight is silent, my Emperor. There are no traitors, or liars or thieves tonight. I have walked these halls myself, I have seen no one. It is safe."

Caracalla eyed you with an alarming amount of awareness. You continued, "No-one except you, Dondus, and I."

The monkey chirped again and ran her fingers through her masters hair, as if that was what she had been trying to tell him. She reached her other hand out for you and you warily held out your fingers. Did monkeys have sharp teeth?

If they did, Dondus kept them at bay. She sniffled your fingers and then released them, seemingly satisfied. Whatever satisfied her seemed to also satisfy her master.

"What is your name?" he asked. You gave it, you had no choice. He murmured it to himself, let it roll around his mouth and settle in his throat.

"Perhaps you would like to return to your quarters now, my Emperor," you asked. "I'll escort you there myself. If we come across anyone then we shall be together and I am quite sure they shall not bother us."

Realistically you had no idea if anyone would bother you or not. You were more than ready to come out from beneath the table, though, and put safe distance between you and the unsteady Emperor.

His eyes seemed steadier now, and there was a faint blush on his cheeks. Perhaps this was a sign that he was returning to himself. Whether that was a good thing, you could not say.

"My chambers," he whispered, voice cracking. "Yes, you will accompany me to my chambers."

It took a moment to untangle yourself from under the table. You emerged first and held out a hand to steady Caracalla. Dondus leapt upon your offered hand and curled herself upon your shoulder. Her fur was softer than expected and you gave a surprise laugh, the sound echoing around the halls.

Caracalla's eyes were fixated on you, and so you allowed him and small smile before turning in the direction of his chambers. The attention was almost too much. The handful of occasions that you had been in the presence of the Emperors were entirely different from this. Surrounded by food, prostitutes, servants and fellow nobles, they had no time to pay attention to anyone specifically. And now…

Caracalla's arm brushed yours and you jerked away, hardly daring to look at him. Something like a laugh came from him and he did it again. This time you remained still and tried to give no reaction. It had the opposite effect. Caracalla shuffled closer until there was no room between your side and his. Dondus slipped back onto his shoulder and you tried to keep your eyes forward.

He said your name again to himself. You wished he would not. It felt as though every time he said it, he was cementing you further in his mind. You hoped that tonight would be nothing but a smear in his memory, hazed by the grip of his sickness.

When you caught sight of the doors to his chambers, it was a great effort not to heave a sigh of relief.

"We are here," you gave a shaky smile, "no traitors or any such thing. You are safe, Emperor Caracalla."

He regarded you with blurry eyes, but did not disagree. You pulled open the door and angled yourself to allow him in. He slipped by you, close, too close, and it was a fight not to let the door slam. You caught a brief look inside the luxury of his room and the several guards that regarded you with surprise and relief.

Caracalla had a habit of slipping his guards. His brother had made it a point to allow it, you had heard. As if to say that they were not afraid of any intruders in their home, such was their might. Surely if it had been someone else, the hallways would have been filled with Praetorians and it would not have been such a still night.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, eyes flickering over your figure. His eyes seemed less cloudy by the second and you did not want to stand in front of a fully aware Emperor Caracalla.

You thought again of the blood and the words rushed out, "I bid you goodnight, my Emperor. Sleep well."

You let go of the door before he could say anything. It was foolish, and for a moment you expected him to come rushing out, hands clawing at your face for your blatant disrespect. But the halls remained quiet, and you breathed out for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

The blood had dried on your wrist, flaky and dark. You inspected it with a grimace before tucking it at your side and walking back down the corridor. If it wasn't for the physical evidence, no part of that night would have felt real. Hopefully you would be able to banish it entirely from your mind by tomorrow, and do your best to stick to your familiar grounds in the palace.

As you walked, you saw a flash of red from the corner of your eye. You turned, expecting Caracalla to be standing outside his door and prepared yourself.

Emperor Geta watched you from the very spot you had just been in. Your already dry mouth felt drier. He tilted his head, watching you curiously, arms folded in front of him.

He looked young. Rich, red cloths rumpled from sleep, hair smoothed down and face bare. Beautiful, like his brother, but deadly. His eyes were dark and steady, opposite to his brother, but equally as unsettling.

An expression flickered in the corner of his mouth and it prompted you to dip your head and curtsey.

"Excuse me, Emperor Geta," you said, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Good night."

There was a weighted pause. For a moment you did not think he would say anything.

And then, "Goodnight."

You rushed around the corner and dove into the shadowy hallways, grateful to get yourself out of sight. It would be a long, long time before you took up any of your friend's tasks for them again. It was not worth it.

_________________________________

Author's Note - I have not written fanfiction in years but I had to emerge from my cave for these two. I'm pretty rusty so please excuse any mistakes! Like & reblog if you enjoyed :)

[fairytaleendingss]

Room for One More?

Chapter 2

Summary: Your rivalry with Remus continues as you spend a night out with his friends at Sirius’ concert.

CW: Alcohol Consumption, mentions of vomit (briefly), references to sex.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x reader

Chapter 1

—

A few days later and you were finally settling into your new home. And as far as roommates go, the boys were pretty good ones.

James was usually out early in the morning at the gym or Rugby training and he’d often return with coffees for everyone. Sirius was a natural born entertainer and always had a joke or a silly anecdote to amuse you with when you returned home from work.

It was just Remus that hadn’t warmed up to you, however, you had no idea why. You’d done everything you could think of to win him over. You cleaned up the kitchen for him before he got home from his lectures, you left extra for him when cooking dinner, you even offered to do his laundry when he was too busy studying for upcoming exams. But still, nothing. No matter what you did, you were greeted with a cold disinterest and one word answers.

By the time the weekend rolled around, you were exhausted, both from him and your long week at work. You were hugely looking forward to Sirius’ show. You figured it’d be the perfect way to unwind.

—

You were squashed into a booth next to James and a girl named Dorcas, twirling your straw in your hand.

The bar was full, thick with energy and cigarette smoke. It was dimly lit, some dive down a back alley. Apparently Sirius and his band played here every Saturday night.

“So y/n! Mary tells me you want to be a writer!” Lily called across the table, barely audible over the clattering of glasses and loud talking that filled the room

“Yeah, it’s something I’m working towards,” you replied. “Although I’ve been working on my novel for a couple of years now but it’s still not quite there yet.”

“Oh cool!” Peter chimed in. He was sitting beside his girlfriend Sybil, a hand around hers under the table. They looked positively smitten with each other. It reminded you of how glaringly single you were.

“What’s your book about?” Dorcas asked.

You sighed. “I guess you could call it a fantasy.”

“Oh is it one of those ones about wizards and magic and stuff?” James pondered enthusiastically.

“I mean, kind of? Not really.” You replied.

“Oh good,” Dorcas mused. “I don’t really like those kinds of stories. I’ve always found them to be a bit childish. I mean, the idea of wizards living amongst us? it’s a bit absurd if you ask me.”

You giggled. “Yes well, I’d say mine is more of a high fantasy. Anyway, enough about me. What do you all do for work?”

You took a sip of your drink.

“Well, I’m a primary school teacher.” Lily offered.

“Oh wow. And how do enjoy that?”

She giggled, her dimples appearing as she did. You had to admit, she was stunningly beautiful, with long auburn hair and astonishing sea-foam eyes. You understood why James had been pining after her for so long.

“I love it,” she responded. “It’s wonderful knowing you’re able to shape a young person’s life.”

“That sounds really rewarding,” you responded.

“It is,” she smiled. “But it’s far from impressive compared to what some of the others do. I mean, Dorcas here is a lawyer and Remus is studying to be a doctor!”

Eyes fell on Remus and you watched as he recoiled slightly under the attention.

As the conversation drew on, you learned that Peter was a Banker, Sybil read tarot cards for a living and Dorcas’ girlfriend Marlene played lead guitar in Sirius’ band.

“Just wait until you see her,” Mary exclaimed. “She’s incredible.”

“I’m looking forward to it!” You replied. You took another sip of your drink and realised you’d finished your glass. Upon looking around the table you saw that the others were in a similar position.

“Looks like I’m in need of a refill. Next round is on me guys!”

There was a slew of cheers from the group as you slid out of the booth and made your way towards the bar. You placed your order and then took a seat on a stool as you waited for the drinks to be made.

You were scrolling through instagram when you felt a presence beside you. Looking up, your heart sank slightly when you noticed it was Remus.

“I thought you could use some help carrying everything,” he muttered, taking a seat beside you.

“Thanks but I think I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah well, I could use some space. The table was getting a little crowded.”

Your eyes raked over his figure, you saw the was he was nervously fiddling with his hands. It dawned on you that maybe the bar scene wasn’t really his thing so much as it was his friends’. He seemed to be a little overwhelmed.

“Okay,” you relented.

A few drinks were placed on a tray in front of you, and Remus reached out to grab his, taking a long sip. Your eyebrows raised.

“You’re drinking straight whisky? That’s pretty hardcore.”

“It’s referred to as a whisky neat,” he responded matter-of-factly (as if you hadn’t been the one to order it for him). “And it really isn’t that bad. I have a pretty high alcohol tolerance. Why? What did you order.”

“A gin and tonic.”

“Exactly my point.”

Your eyes narrowed as you looked up at him. You could help but scoff.

“Are you implying that I can’t hold my alcohol?”

Remus shrugged, taking another sip. “I’m just saying that some people have a higher tolerance is all.”

A mix of irritation and downright anger began to build in your gut. You’d had enough of him. His coldness towards you, his constant condescending remarks. Fuck it, you thought, I’m done being nice. If he wanted to start something, then so be it.

“Fine,” you challenged. “If you’re so sure about that, £20 says that I can out-drink you tonight.”

He turned to face you, a brow quirked questioningly.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just shake on it, Remus.”

“Fine. It’s your funeral.”

You shook hands. Then you turned to the bartender.

“Excuse me, I’d like to change my order. Could I get a whisky, neat?”

—

The band came on around 10pm and the crowd cheered wildly.

Sirius was the first to enter, clad in black and leather, looking like a true rockstar.

His eyes twinkled beneath the stage lights. Even on the narrow bar stage, he managed to look ethereal.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?”

The crowd roared once more, you among them.

“That’s good! We’re Snakes and Lions and we have a few songs to play for you. Is that alright?”

The crowed cheered again.

As the first notes of the song trickled through the room, you couldn’t help but stare up at Sirius. His long flowing hair, the tattoos that peaked out from under his black tank top, the way his eyeliner brought out the grey of his eyes.

A glance to Remus beside you, told you he was feeling the same way. He was staring up at Sirius like he was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. And you couldn’t blame him.

Still, you felt and odd pang of jealously shoot through your gut.

You decided to push it down, instead venturing to the bar for another drink.

As the set drew on, you could feel yourself beginning to sway, not only from the music but also the alcohol in your blood.

The room began to blur in a dizzying haze and you found yourself leaning into James who stood beside you, for support.

You continued to watch Sirius perform, entranced by the way he moved around the stage, his voice baring into your very soul.

At one point, when he he introduced the band (Barty on drums, Marlene on lead guitar, Evan on rhythm guitar and his little brother Regulus on bass), he sent you a wink and you felt your heart leap in your chest. You felt like you were watching a celebrity.

Still, amidst the music, your mind continued to wander to Remus. Your bet had carried on and you continued to down drink after drink out of sheer spite.

You were determined to beat him. Determined to prove that you could hold your own, that there was a spot for you in his home, whether he liked it or not.

By the time the band finished playing, you were far past the point of no return.

—

There was a light on somewhere. It was too bright, shining directly into your eyes. You groaned and rolled over, sinking in to your mattress. You tried to go back to sleep but you couldn’t. You needed to get up and turn the light off.

As you blinked your eyes open, you realised the light wasn’t in fact coming from the ceiling but from a window.

That’s odd, you thought, I don’t remember there being a window there.

The room was blurry as you looked around. It was clearly morning, that much you could tell, and there was a throbbing pain in your head. Last night was definitely a mistake.

It was then that your gaze fell on the football paraphernalia that sat on the dresser and the framed jersey that hung above it.

You shot upwards like a bullet, your eyes widening as you glanced around the space.

This wasn’t your room. It was James'.

You gasped loudly as you looked down at yourself. Fuck! You were in your underwear.

You frantically looked around the space, searching for anything you could use to cover up. There was a black t-shirt thrown over a chair in the corner.

A sniff told you it was clean and you hastily threw it on, not caring right then that it wasn’t yours.

It didn’t cover much but it’d have to do for now.

It was at that moment the door swung open. You froze, wide eyed like a deer caught in the headlights.

James just looked you up and down for a moment, balancing a cup of coffee in each hand.

“Oh good. You’re up.”

“W-what happened last night?” You blurted out in a panic.

“You don’t remember?” The boy queried, moving to place the coffees down on the bedside table.

You shook your head.

“We didn’t… ah? You know?”

“Oh no! Nothing like that! We didn’t sleep together if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through your hair in relief.

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

James just smirked. “Oh no, it’s much more embarrassing than that.”

You looked up at him nervously, feeling your cheeks grow hot. “Shit. What did I do?”

James moved to stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, muscles in his biceps flexing as he did.

“Well, you stumbled into my room at 2:30 in the morning complaining you were bored and wanted to hang out.”

You grimaced.

“Then you collapsed in my bed and refused to leave. Which I didn’t mind, by the way. But then you decided that it was too hot and insisted on taking your clothes off. I barely stopped you from getting completely naked. You were on a mission.”

You groaned as he chuckled at the story.

“James, I’m so sorry.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there.”

“What? Mostly naked in our roommate's bed?”

He snorted. “Yeah sure. Something like that.”

He gestured towards the coffee that sat on the bedside table and you took a sip, letting the warm drink sooth your aching throat.

“I’m sure you have a hell of a hangover,” he sympathised. “Why don’t you finish your coffee and then go and have a shower while I whip up some breakfast.”

You smiled up at him gently. “James, you don’t have to-“

“Stop apologising,” he cut you off. “I’m happy to. Besides, what are roommates for if not to make you meals?”

—

It was a while before you re-emerged, having showered and now wearing clothes that were your own. You weren’t bothered to dry your hair though. You resigned to let it drip down your back.

You trudged into the living area to see that the rest of the boys had beaten you there.

James was standing in the kitchen cooking what smelt suspiciously (and deliciously) like bacon.

Sirius was lounging on the sofa, half watching a random action movie that was playing on the TV, set to low volume.

You assumed that choice was made for the benefit of Remus who looked a wreck. He was sitting at the dining table, face down with his head resting on his arms.

An evil sense of satisfaction washed over you when you realised that he was nursing a hangover just as bad as your own.

“Well!” You made sure to exclaim loudly, smacking your hands down hard on the table as you took a seat across from Remus.

He flinched and groaned as he sat up, sending you an irritable look.

“Last night was fun.”

Sirius chuckled from his across the room. “For some of us more so than others.”

“Y/n definitely had fun,” James teased as he approached the table, placing a plate of bacon and eggs before you. You slapped him playfully on the arm as he walked away.

You glanced around the room as you began to eat, your brows furrowing when you noticed something odd out of the window.

“Guys, why’s the pot plant out on the balcony?”

“I’m airing it out,” Sirius said absent-mindedly. “Remus threw up in it last night.”

A delighted smirk overtook your features. “Did he now?”

The boy just groaned, thumping his head back down onto the table.

“Here mate,” James stated, placing a plate of food down beside his head. “Eat something, it’ll make you feel better.”

You had to admit, you did feel better after some food. And James was a bloody good cook.

Then, suddenly an idea flitted through your mind.

“Did anyone keep a copy of the tab from last night?”

“Yeah I’ve got it in my wallet, why?” James confirmed.

“Could I see it please?”

He placed the receipt in front of you on the table and you began to add up the drinks that you remembered yourself and Remus ordering.

“Aha!” You shouted after a moment, jumping up and walking around the table. Remus looked up at you, displeased.

“I beat you! Pay up!”

“What’s this?” Sirius questioned curiously.

“Remus bet me £20 that he could out drink me and I proved him wrong!” You exclaimed.

“Hey, don’t put this on me,” Remus muttered. “It was her idea.”

“It looks like you’ve been a bad influence on our poor Remus,” James teased.

“Yeah, he never usually drinks that much,” Sirius added.

You looked at him suspiciously. “Huh? Really? That was big game you talked last night.”

“Remus is all talk,” Sirius joked. “Deep down he’s really just a little softy.”

“Fuck off, all of you,” the boy groaned.

“Not until I get my £20!”

James barked out a laugh.

“Come on buddy,” he stated in Remus’ direction. “You heard the girl, pay up!”

—

Taglist:

@hisparentsgallerryy

@navs-bhat

@shushbruv

[incognit0slut]

The breaking point

Part 2 of Beyond the Limit (can also be read as a standalone)

Spencer realizes that being dominant doesn’t always require him to be rough, especially when he has complete control over your body.

warnings: (18+, MDNI) soft dom spence because there’s a lot of praising in this one, reader in lingerie, orgasm control or edging, overstimulation, reader gets cockdrunk (idk how to explain it better), a little cockwarming at the end

Words: 4,3k

a/n: this has been in my drafts for a while and i finally finished it, i don’t usually do a part two for my oneshots but…i’m actually tempted to do more

You were a tease—a goddamn tease. Spencer knew he needed to work on his self-control, but it was hard to keep his composure when you had the ability to stir desire within him. It was perplexing, given that there was a time when thoughts of anything remotely sexual never even crossed his mind.

For the majority of his life, intimacy had been a foreign concept. While he occasionally felt a pang of jealousy witnessing everyone around him find love, he managed just fine without it.  He suspected it was partly a defense mechanism, channeling his focus toward other aspects of his life—such as his mother's health, for example—to avoid dwelling on what he lacked.

But then all his beliefs shattered when you came crashing into his life. Suddenly, everything he thought he knew about himself was thrown away. Your presence sparked a fire within him that he never knew existed and he found himself craving the intimacy he had once dismissed as unnecessary.

He wasn't even aware of how touch-starved he was until he met you, and now it was hard to maintain that last thread of self-control he possessed. It wasn't that he didn't want to give in, but rather, he feared the intensity of his own desires, afraid that he might enjoy it more than he anticipated.

Because did he have to be rough with you for him to be satisfied, now that he had once known how it felt like? But how could he indulge in such temptation when you looked so utterly beautiful right now, so delicate, so precious in his eyes?

How could he even fathom ruining your perfection with roughness?

"Spence?" You nervously asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Your confidence was starting to dissipate as his eyes slowly traveled down your body, taking in the lingerie you chose to surprise him. Although this was not the reaction you were hoping for. "Do you not... like it?"

Spencer's gaze lingered on you, his expression was unreadable for a moment before a warm smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"No, no, it's not that," he reassured you, putting down the book he had been reading on the bedside table before you walked into your shared bedroom. He reached his hand out, motioning you to come closer. "It's just... you caught me off guard, that's all."

You approached him cautiously and as you stepped closer, you noticed the tension in his shoulders easing, replaced by a soft warmth in his eyes. His hand found its place on your waist, drawing you closer and you instinctively fell on his lap, your knees dipping onto the bed on each side of his thighs.

Feeling his arousal right between your legs, you couldn't suppress the soft gasp that escaped your lips. "So you do like it," you murmured, a hint of satisfaction lacing your words.

"Like it? Sweetheart, that's an understatement," he replied. His calloused palms traveled along your sides as he took in the way the lace material hugged your curves.

The lilac-colored lingerie set on your body accentuated your figure perfectly. Both pieces were see-through, granting him a glimpse of your chest and lower region. The delicate edges of the top were adorned with more of the soft fabric, cascading over your stomach and back in a gentle, stunningly pretty way.

"You're so beautiful," Spencer whispered as he traced the intricate patterns of the fabric with his fingertips. "Absolutely breathtaking."

His touch sent shivers down your spine. You leaned into him, relishing the warmth and tenderness of his touch as one of his hands moved up your arm before resting behind your neck, pulling you closer to him.

His lips touched yours gently, sending a thrill coursing through your body. He nipped at your bottom lip, his touch both teasing and tender and as he sucked on it softly, a low moan escaped you. He then deepened the kiss, his tongue gently pushing into your mouth, and you kissed him back eagerly, your lips moving in perfect sync with his.

When he finally pulled away, you were left breathless, but he didn't stop giving you attention. His mouth made its way down to your neck, his lips trailing soft kisses along your skin and you couldn't help but arch your back, offering yourself to him completely. He then sucked on the spot below your ear, his lips creating a deliciously pleasurable sensation that made you moan softly in response.

You could feel his smile against your skin as he continued to travel further down, his lips leaving a trail of heat along your neck and collarbone. At the same time, his fingers pulled down the strap of your lingerie top, the material gracefully falling down your body, revealing more of your skin.

"Beautiful," he whispered as if it was the first time he laid his eyes on you, even if the two of you lost count long ago. His name slipped from your lips the moment his wide palms were pressed to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh and your nipples hardened beneath his touch.

Your mouth hung open in a silent gasp, and your breathing quickened in response when his thumb traced over your sensitive peak, sending electric sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. Spencer watched the way your eyes widened with desire, his own filled with a hunger that mirrored yours. And when he leaned closer, wrapping his soft lips around it, you were instantly gone.

The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, eliciting the most sinful sound you weren't even aware of making. It was like music to his ears, fueling his desire to please you even more. He continued to suck on your skin, giving the same attention to each breasts, his movements growing more fervent with each passing moment.

When he felt your hips bucking against his, he let out a low, guttural groan of pleasure. He softly drew back your nipple, your supple skin following his pull before he released it with a soft pop. Your skin glistened from his saliva, and honestly, Spencer had never seen such a splendid sight before.

The way you were grinding against him over his cotton pants frantically sent a surge of desire coursing through his veins. He could feel the thin fabric of your sheer panties pressing between your cunt, and with each movement, he could see glimpses of soft, bare skin glistening under the light, driving him wild with longing.

A primal need surged within him, a need to devour you, to lose control and indulge in the raw intensity. He craved to run his rough hands along your body, to explore every inch of your skin and claim you as his own. But he couldn't—not when you were the one in control as you sought pleasure in the way your hips moved against his.

So instead, his hands found purchase on your hips, guiding you to move faster. "That's it, sweetheart," he encouraged, his voice thick with desire. "Keep going."

You obeyed, pressing your aching heat against his cock, rolling your hips rapidly as a whimper of his name escaped you. You felt yourself growing hot and needy, your arousal dripping through your panties to coat his flesh beneath you, soaking through fabrics.

"Look at how wet you are," he mused, his voice laced with desire as he observed your flushed state and the evidence of your arousal staining the fabric between you. "Does this feel good?"

Your only response was another desperate moan, your body consumed by the overwhelming pleasure of being with him. What started lazy and slow soon turned into sporadic thrusts as you tried to cling to any friction. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, and your body quivered with a delicious ache. It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn't enough.

"I need to feel you," you breathed out quickly, and before he could register what was happening, your fingers were pulling down his pants frantically. Sensing your desperation, he was quick to push the fabric down as his cock sprung free.

You bit down on your bottom lip as you lift your hips above him, taking him by the base with one of your hands while the other pushed the material of your panties to the side. He groaned when you pressed the tip of his cock to your dripping entrance.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice. Spencer always made sure you were fully ready, either with his fingers or mouth—or even with your own fingers. But you were already wet enough, and you couldn't wait any longer to feel him inside you.

You nodded eagerly, the need for him overpowering any hesitation. "Please," you begged, your voice pleading and desperate. "I need you now."

Both of you watched in awe as his girth stretched your clenched walls, the sensation of being filled to the brim overwhelming your senses. It wasn't the first time this happened, but it felt like a new sensation each time, and you found yourself instinctively clenching around him, eager to feel him even deeper inside you.

"Fuck," you whimpered, allowing yourself a moment to adjust to his size. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as you squeezed yourself around him. With a slow, deliberate motion, you lifted your hips, feeling him ease out of you, only to lower yourself onto him again.

The sensation of him sliding back inside you made you gasp, a rush of pleasure washing over you as you took him deeper. His groan reverberated through your body, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you. As his head fell back against the headboard, you couldn't help but whimper, the words tumbling from your lips without much thought.

"You fill me up so good," you confessed, your voice laced with desire as you rolled your hips against him. Your hands slipped under his shirt, feeling his soft stomach clench underneath your fingertips with every upstroke of your hips. "Take this off, baby."

With a low growl of approval, Spencer complied, swiftly removing his shirt and tossing it aside. Without hesitation, your hands trailed over his chest, reveling in the sensation of his smooth skin beneath your fingertips, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

He watched you intently, captivated by the raw display of pleasure that painted your features. The way your face twisted in ecstasy, the way your mouth hung open in silent gasps, the way your breasts bounced with every movement—all of it drove him to the edge of his self-control.

As you quickened your pace, he felt his restraint slipping away, the urge to claim you completely becoming increasingly difficult to resist. Each time you clenched around him, it became harder for him to hold back. And as always, you could tell. You could feel the tension in his grip on your hips, the way his fingers dug into your flesh with a possessive urgency.

You slowed your hips, bringing your hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at you. "You're doing it again."

His gaze met yours, filled with a mixture of desire and frustration. He knew exactly what you were referring to. "I... I can't help it. You drive me crazy."

"I know that," you responded, stilling for a moment as you kept him buried deep inside you. "I just need you to do something about it."

He slowly shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," you assured him, your voice filled with confidence as you leaned closer, bumping your nose against him seductively. "Come on, I know how much you want to be in control."

When he didn't respond, you pushed him even further, your lips tantalizingly close to his as you whispered your seductive taunt.

"I know you want more," you teased. "Don't you want to take control? Lie me on my back and fuck me until I can't think anymore? Until I beg you to stop while you use my body over and over again?"

"Don't tempt me," he choked out, his voice thick with longing and restraint.

But you weren't finished yet. "Yeah?" you challenged, your tone daring as you buried your hand in his disheveled, sweaty hair. "Then I dare you to."

You tugged on his roots.

"Fuck me, Spencer." You nipped on his bottom lip. "Fuck me real good."

His breath caught in his throat at your bold words, his heart pounding rapidly. With a shaky exhale, he met your gaze, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter than ever before.

And then, in a sudden surge of boldness, he surprised you, flipping you onto your back as you let out an amused squeal. But your laughter was quickly drowned out by the heat of his lips crashing down on yours.

He kissed you feverishly, with a messy and desperate hunger that left you breathless. He clung onto you as if you were the very air he needed to survive. He was devouring you as if you were the most delicious meal he had ever encountered, and he savored every moment, every sensation, swallowing your desperate moans.

And then he pulled out and you whimpered at the loss but any hint of disappointment vanished as you watched him shed his last piece of clothing. Then with deliberate slowness, he reached for your panties, his eyes locked on yours as he dragged them up your leg, savoring the sight of the damp fabric clinging to your skin.

When he finally discarded it on the floor, he wasted no time in grabbing one of your legs. With deliberate tenderness, he began trailing soft kisses along the inner part of your thigh, each gentle press of his lips sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. Your breath quickened as you watched him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I'm not going to be rough," he whispered, his voice low and husky, his eyes never leaving yours as he planted soft kisses right at the edge of your drenching heat, teasingly close to where you craved him most. He then crawled over your body, settling himself between your legs, his gaze locked on yours.

"But I am going to use you," he murmured, his words sending a thrill of excitement coursing through you. "You'll let me do that, won't you?"

As he hovered above you, his weight supported by his arms, you watched a strand of his outgrown hair fall over his eyes. With a gentle touch, you reached out and tucked it behind his ear, a soft smile playing on your lips as you nodded in response.

"Say it," he urged. "Tell me you're mine to use."

You met his gaze, your own eyes dark with longing and anticipation. "I'm yours," you whispered, and when you felt his tip pressing into your entrance once again, you gasped. "I-I’m yours to use."

In one swift motion, he filled you again with a hard thrust that had you arching your back, a strangled moan escaping your lips as pleasure surged through you. "S-Spence..."

"Good girl," he praised, his words sending shivers down your spine as he kissed your cheek. His hips began to roll into you, setting a rhythm that drove you wild. "My good, pretty girl."

You whined in response, the sound music to his ears as he continued to thrust into you at a steady rhythm. He relished the way you responded to him, the way you surrendered to the pleasure he was giving you. He wanted to use the way you were satisfied, to use the way you wanted him, to take you to the brink of ecstasy.

He wanted to use you in every way possible, to make you his in every sense of the word.

Spencer never considered himself a possessive person, but when it came to you, he wanted to be the one you surrendered to completely. And in this moment, he had never felt more in control. It was intoxicating, the power he held over you, the way you willingly gave yourself to him.

That was why when he felt you clenching around him, knowing you were so close to your peak, he stopped. He wanted to draw out this moment, to savor every sensation, every sound you made, every breath that escaped your lips. He wanted to draw out your pleasure until you were begging for release, until you were completely and utterly his.

"Why—" you gasped. "Why did you stop?"

He smiled down at you. "Because I want to make you feel good, Angel," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "And I want to take my time doing it."

Your head fell back, and you couldn't help but bite your lip to suppress a moan. His use of the term Angel always had a way of melting your resolve, and you knew he was fully aware of the effect it had on you.

"Be patient," he chided before burying his head in the crook of your neck, nipping at your skin gently. Then, he resumed moving his hips, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. It felt incredible, but you couldn't shake the desire for him to fuck you harder.

"More," you cried out, feeling as if you were in a deep haze.

"Yeah? Spread your legs wider then."

You whimpered at his simple command, your shuddering legs gradually spreading a few inches wider. It was becoming harder to breathe from the way he was pushing you into the mattress, but you welcomed the pleasure, craving more of him.

Your hands clawed at his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks from your nails as you desperately sought something to hold onto. The intense pleasure coiled tightly in your gut, making you feel as if you were gasping for air while your head swam with overwhelming sensations.

Your moans became more fragmented with every stroke of his hips, your thoughts clouded by the pulsating ache between your legs. All you could focus on was the overwhelming sensation building within you, traveling along your body. You were so close—and then it stopped.

It simply stopped right at the edge, and you couldn't feel anything but a raw need. It was incredibly frustrating as you caught him smiling down at you. You whined and bucked your hips, chasing the tight warmth you had so suddenly been denied.

Your breath came out in short, ragged gasps. "You're evil," you managed to say, your voice trembling with need. "I-I was so close..."

"Too soon," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed his lips to yours. "Just imagine how good it'll be once I finally let you come."

Spencer then slowly pulled away, his eyes tracing every detail of your trembling form—the way your mouth was slackened open, the way your hair sprawled across the sheets, the way your eyes fluttered closed yet struggled to remain open. He noticed them glistening with unshed tears, on the verge of falling, and a pang of guilt tugged at his heart.

He knew he was pushing you to your limits, but he couldn't help himself. He was simply using you, just like you asked him to. But seeing the tears welling in your eyes, a wave of tenderness washed over him, and he leaned down to kiss them away, whispering soft words of comfort.

"Shhh, it's okay," he murmured. Although his words were spoken softly, there was nothing gentle about the way he continued to fuck you. "You can take it. Hold on a little bit longer, I promise."

A choked sob escaped you as he pressed soft kisses to your cheeks, murmuring soothing words. One of his hands reached between you, settling on the lower part of your stomach before pressing down gently as he felt the outline of cock moving inside you. He let out a groan, overwhelmed by the sensation.

"That’s it, Angel," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "You're taking me so well."

You whimpered almost pathetically as everything started to blur. You were a sweaty mess, both of you were, his skin gliding along yours effortlessly as he continued to thrust into you. The sound of wet skin slapping against each other filled the room, so sticky, so messy, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

The throbbing between your legs was starting to burn, but at the same time, it felt so good—the way he was stretching you, the way you could feel him moving in and out of you. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, it was all too much but also not enough.

"S-Spence..." you whined, your head spinning with pleasure, almost too delirious as drool seeped down the corner of your lips. "Pl-Please, I-I can't—"

A soft chuckle escaped him as he watched you struggle to form coherent words. "Alright, alright, I got you," he murmured reassuringly. "On three now. Can you be a good girl and come at the count of three?"

You nodded weakly. "Yes, yes," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths.

"That's my girl," he praised, his voice filled with satisfaction. "One..."

Your breath hitched as anticipation built within you. Obscene wet noises filled your ears as he continued to fuck you, and with each number, his thrusts grew more deliberate, more intense.

"Two..."

You whined and he swallowed your moans, capturing your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. You couldn't form any coherent words. You couldn't even think. It was too fucking much and you were on the verge of your breaking point.

And then, on the final count, he drove into you with such force that it sent you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

"Three," he whispered as he pulled back slightly, a string of saliva connected your parted mouths.

You gasped, holding onto him tightly as waves of pleasure consumed you. Your senses overwhelmed, your vision blurred with white-hot intensity, and tears leaked from the corners of your eyes as you teetered on the edge of overstimulation.

T-Too much—You can't. You fucking can't.

The sensation never seemed to end and you found yourself surrendering to it,  your mind going blank. It was as if you were intoxicated by the heady sensation, your senses dulled and heightened all at once, drunk on his touch. Your body felt so wet, so sensitive, so overwhelmed by the sheer force of your climax. 

And when you thought it couldn't get any more intense, he proved you wrong by rutting his hips even harder with so much force as he chased his own high. He tucked his head in your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he moaned into your ear. With a few final thrusts, he drove into you deeply, his body tensing as he released himself inside you.

You were tired, so overwhelmingly spent, and as you both came down from the high, you gasped and trembled, your body finally relaxing from the pent-up tension. Your eyes felt glassy and unfocused, blinking slowly as you registered his murmured praises against your neck and shoulder.

He gently pulled away, and you winced as you felt him still throbbing inside you. Slowly, he searched for your eyes, his gaze filled with tenderness, and sighed in relief when you looked up at him with a tired yet blissful smile on your lips.

He smiled softly, relieved by your response. "You're okay."

You nodded, still feeling a bit dazed. "Hmm," you murmured, running your fingers along his damp hair. "I'm more than okay."

He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You did so well," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "I'm so proud of you."

You giggled. "Me? I never thought you could be tempted to do that so easily."

He chuckled softly, brushing his nose against yours. "You have that effect on me," he confessed. "Besides, it's hard to resist you."

"I am pretty irresistible, aren't I?"

"Absolutely," he replied as he brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face. He shifted his weight and started to pull out, only for you to wrap your legs around his waist, locking him in place.

"No, no," you pleaded. "Stay inside me for a while."

He paused, looking down at you with a smile. "We need to clean up."

"And we will." You ran a hand over his shoulder. "Just... give me five minutes."

He sighed, his resolve melting under your pleading gaze. "Alright, five minutes," he agreed, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. "But then we really need to clean up."

You responded with a soft hum, snuggling closer to him as he shifted toward the empty space on the bed. With a gentle gesture, he pulled you on top of him, enveloping you in his arms as you sprawled across his body. 

You let out a sigh, tucking your face into the crook of his neck with the rhythm of his heart beating against your own. And as you savored the sensation of him still pulsing inside you, you smiled peacefully—you have never felt so complete.

I'm tempted to turn this into a series of one-shots where he and Reader explore new kinks together... or like how they try to navigate their relationship. I'm really, really tempted.

[saturnsbabyboii]

♡Venus Through the Houses♡

(Brought to you by Sailor Venus)

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In astrology, Venus is the planet of luck, love, and beauty. It represents the way one loves, relationships, sharing, affectivity, and seductive ability. Venus is all about pleasure, especially pleasure shared with someone else. This planet concerns itself with love, romance, and harmony in our emotional attachments, marriages, friendships, and other unions like business partnerships. Venus is content to spread happiness and tenderness, all the while teaching us how to love and appreciate others and the things that we possess. We appear attractive, and we attract others. Socializing with and relating to others are important to this planet. Beauty is also strongly associated with Venus. The arts, music, dance, drama, and literature, and a sense of the aesthetic fall within the realm of Venus. Venus entreats us to indulge our senses and revel in the beauty of our world. This planet is inextricably linked to refinement, culture, charm, and grace. Venus also deals with the pleasure we derive from our possessions. Luxuries, jewelry, paintings, expensive cars, good food and drink, a beautiful home, and a sense of refinement all please Venus. This planet asks us to appreciate the exquisite nature of things. It’s a sensual and romantic world as far as Venus is concerned. Venus takes 225 days to complete its orbit of the zodiac and is never more than 47 degrees from the Sun. Its feminine energy rules Taurus and Libra and the Second and Seventh Houses. Venus's sign describes how you love and how you want to be loved. The house of Venus tells in which life areas you find happiness and where you feel loved. As the lesser benefic planet, Venus is often a point of ease and luck in the horoscope. 

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♡Venus in the 1st house♡

When Venus is in the 1st house, there is a strong sense of self-identity that is linked to beauty, love, and harmony. Natives with this placement are very likely to be charming, attractive, and personable and may have a natural talent for the arts or music. However, they may tend to be overly concerned with appearances and place too much emphasis on superficial qualities. If Venus is close to the ascendant, then this benefic planet would have a large influence on your appearance. Venus in the first house indicates a beautiful physical body. You appear ethereal, and some may refer to you as a goddess or god. This placement is frequently found in the charts of actors, models, and fashion icons. However, they may tend to be overly concerned with appearances and place too much emphasis on superficial qualities. A person with Venus in the 1st house might be feminine in demeanor and energy. 

Venus here represents a person with exceptional social skills. They can also be quite diplomatic, tactful, and skilled at negotiating relationships. You are magnetic, affectionate, and charming. You desire peace, harmony, and beauty all around you. People are drawn to you, and you are well-known. Individuals with this placement should remember that true beauty comes from within and cultivate deeper connections with others beyond mere surface-level attraction. Venus expresses her qualities through the 1st House values. Your initial reactions are either subtle or sensual. You follow your dislikes or infatuations, sometimes quite blindly, before you begin to think, accept your interlocutor, or keep your distance. Through your sensations, instinctive desires, or natural repulsions, you discover the world, others, and the unknown. Venus in the first house indicates that you are well-liked and popular. These individuals are stunningly beautiful. Everyone seems to want to be around them, and success seems to come naturally to them. In addition, they are often attractive and well-mannered. People are drawn to you because of your charisma and, in some cases, physical beauty. Venus is all about harmony, and when it is in your first house, it tends to give you a melodic appearance- the kind that people write music and poems about. Venus in your first house bestows grace, elegance, beauty, and allure on you. Others frequently spoiled you, especially when you were a child. Venus in the first house also indicates that your childhood might have been pleasant and that you lived in a lovely location. 

This placement often gifts you with a beauty that radiates inside out. You are friendly, warm, and affectionate. This placement can be a lovely location. This placement often gifts you with a beauty that radiates inside out. You are friendly, warm, and affectionate. This placement can result in an outgoing personality; most people with Venus in the first house are extroverts or at least comfortable around others. People with Venus in their first house also tend to have refined tastes, and many are talented actors. Planets in the first house always appear in one's life and are visible to others. People notice the energies of planets in this house and associate them with the person when they look at them. Venus in the first house is no different. People regard you as the epitome of beauty and grace. 

Venus is the planet of love and romance. As the ruling planet of Libra, she desires harmony above all else. A person with a prominent Venus in their chart has a strong desire for love and intimate connections. They want to be loved, and there are usually a lot of people who want to. With Venus in the first house, however, make sure that people are drawn to the real you. The natal chart is much more than just Venus, and people have much more to offer than beauty. People with Venus in the first house function best when they are in a relationship. To be happy, you need a lot of romance and pleasure in your life. One disadvantage of a natal Venus in the first house is that it may attract superficial people who will abandon you when times get tough. This is not to say that people love you solely because of your appearance, but it is important to be aware of this tendency. And, as always, Venus's sign and aspects have a significant impact on how this planet plays out. 

People with natal Venus in the first house instinctively know how to attract what they want into their lives. They achieve their objectives more easily than others, in part because people are eager to assist them. Although Venus is beneficial, it bestows its gifts on you without your participation. Too much Venus can make you sluggish. You become accustomed to success without exerting any effort, and you have forgotten how to work for it. This is often learned the hard way, especially if your Venus in the first house is afflicted. Venus enjoys living life to the fullest. However, everything should be done within reason. People with Venus in their first house have a proclivity for self-indulgence. They are attracted to the finer things in life, such as nice clothes, good food, and other luxuries, and could be described as a hedonist. However, you might have an extremely addictive personality, and once you've gotten used to this lifestyle, it's difficult to give up. 

♡Venus in the 2nd house♡

When Venus is located in the 2nd house, it can significantly impact an individual's financial status and personal values. This placement is often associated with a fondness for beauty, luxury, and comfort, which may result in excessive spending or a desire for material possessions. However, it can also attract abundance and financial prosperity since Venus is the planet of love, harmony, and prosperity. Individuals with this placement may also place a high value on their self-worth and self-esteem, which can influence their relationships and career decisions. It is important to nurture your emotions and engage in meaningful experiences. Although love cannot make you wealthy, it can enrich your life. Your wealth is measured by the kisses and tears you share rather than the number of dollars you have. You have an instinctive and effective approach to managing your assets, even if it may seem haphazard at times. You prioritize a person's innate preferences and personality over their image or wealth. People with this placement are their own greatest asset, possessing healthy self-esteem and the belief that they deserve the best. Venus is in dignity in this house because it is traditionally associated with Taurus. 

When it comes to financial success, Venus is one of the best planets to have here. You will probably accumulate wealth. This placement indicates that you are a hard worker who strives to lead a comfortable life. You have a deep appreciation for the luxuries that life has to offer, such as art, jewelry, nice clothes, and other refined things. This hedonistic tendency makes you an excellent fit for careers in areas like fashion, beauty, interior design, or any other creative field that requires a refined aesthetic sense. Venus governs the second house, which means that these individuals have a natural knack for creating financial prosperity, making money, and a keen understanding of how the material world operates. The second house is also the house of talent. Venus here represents an artistic talent and a sophisticated taste. You value beauty in the world and are a source of beauty yourself. Taurus rules the throat in astrology, and people with Venus in the second house have a pleasant voice. However, you can be quite materialistic, in your emphasis on financial stability. Venus in the 2nd suggests that you might spend a lot of money as well, which can be exasperated by the presence of hard aspects. This can be problematic because financial success is based on the amount you retain rather than what you earn. You place a high value on your social status and are willing to go to great lengths to amass more popularity, as it is interwind for you with wealth. However, becoming fixated on your status can lead you astray. In some cases, Venus in the second house can cause you to become obsessed with material gain, and this can lead to stinginess, and shallowness, and develop a vain and histrionic attitude towards life. 

The position of Venus in your birth chart can reveal the kind of partners you tend to be drawn to. When Venus is located in your second house, you may find yourself attracted to people who are both sincere and well-off, as well as physically appealing. You place a high value on stability and security in your romantic relationships, and you feel loved when your partner expresses their affection through physical means. You are not one to rush into a relationship - instead, you take the time to get to know your potential partner before committing, and once you do, you are fully invested. Your love is enduring, and you believe in taking things slow and steady in matters of the heart.

♡Venus in the 3rd house♡

This house is ideal for individuals with Venus placement in the 3rd house. It is believed that this placement brings about a charming and sociable nature to one's communication style. People with this placement are known for their conversational skills and have the natural ability to connect with others on a personal level. They may also possess a talent for writing or poetry and find pleasure in reading about art, beauty, and culture. However, it is important for individuals with Venus in the 3rd house to balance their desire for harmony with the need to express themselves honestly and authentically. It is crucial to control your moods based on the way you relate to the world. Communication is more than just exchanging information; it is a field of experience that involves your natural likes and dislikes. You should refrain from making judgments on people, ideas, or concepts. Instead, let your heart have the final say. You possess a creative mind and can easily express yourself. You are also very curious and love to communicate, which makes you diplomatic and a good conversationalist. You may be associated with street style, fashion education, art galleries, or the local art scene. You have good social skills, are flirtatious, and can easily strike up a conversation, developing a reputation as the popular girl in school or the girl next door or something of equivalence.

Venus in the third house indicates literary talent. You enjoy poetry and are artistic and creative. The third house represents education. Venus is madly in love with education. If you have this placement in your horoscope, you will spend your entire life educating yourself. Your home is most likely littered with books. You have a natural talent for languages and can quickly learn new ones. Aside from knowledge, Venus in the third house frequently bestows dexterity. People with this placement are extremely talented. This combination can result in a good teacher or writer.

It is suggested that if Venus is placed in the third house, you may tend to avoid conflicts. You may possess the ability to understand the other person's perspective, which can be advantageous in negotiations. Venus in the third house can help to resolve disputes quickly. This placement of Venus indicates that you have an inherent talent for communication and can achieve your goals while simultaneously being kind and charming. The third house is associated with siblings and childhood. If Venus is not negatively affected, it indicates that you had a harmonious relationship with your siblings during childhood, which will continue to be supportive throughout your life. Individuals with Venus in the third house usually have cheerful childhood memories and are often well-liked by their community. Although, at times, you may indulge in gossip, you are a beloved member of your neighborhood and acquaintances. Venus in the third house also indicates that you enjoy running errands and embarking on short journeys. During these trips, you may come across several things that can serve as sources of inspiration for your artistic endeavors.

Through the influence of Venus in you chart you can discover what you desire in a relationship, how you approach love, your way of giving and receiving love, and your perception of your worthiness. The third house in your chart represents your cognitive abilities. If Venus is present, you naturally gravitate toward intellectual individuals. You seek a partner who can mentally stimulate you and make you laugh. Additionally, you enjoy flirting. Communication is vital to you in any relationship, and you long for someone with whom you can engage in stimulating conversations. You tend to meet potential partners through your immediate surroundings, relatives, or even chance encounters on short trips.

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♡Venus in the 4th house♡

When Venus is located in the 4th house, it can indicate a strong desire to create a pleasant and harmonious home environment. This placement is often associated with a deep connection to family and a need for stability in relationships. Individuals with this placement may have a natural talent for decorating and creating a cozy atmosphere. They tend to express their emotions most freely within their family circle. However, they may be selective in their choice of loved ones and exclude those who are too different from themselves. They limit their love to a reassuring home and may tend to become overly attached to material possessions. It's important to remember that true happiness and fulfillment come from deeper connections and emotional security, rather than just external aesthetics. People with this placement are typically optimistic and cheerful and thrive on being surrounded by love and warmth. They are well-suited for creating a happy family environment and have good relationships with all family members. They are skilled at diffusing conflicts before they arise.

It seems that you possess a deep fondness for both your biological family and the family you establish as an adult, as indicated by the placement of Venus. This position suggests that you share a strong bond with your parents, and they have played a positive role in your life. Those with Venus in the fourth house are more likely to hail from a well-to-do family. The fourth house symbolizes not only your immediate family and home but also your ancestors and heritage. Venus in the fourth house is captivated by great-grandparents and all of your ancestors. It is believed that the past holds the answers to contemporary dilemmas. Individuals with Venus in the fourth house are often intrigued by history, archaeology, and ethnology or feel a profound connection with traditions and people of the past and their way of life. Customs and traditions are of great importance to you. You live your life by your family's values, and your principles align with your parents'. With this placement, you tend to be more conservative, and traditional values hold a special place in your heart. A joyous family life is a top priority for you. You may be fortunate in terms of real estate or land ownership. 

Venus in the fourth house also suggests that you are environmentally aware. You put in quite a bit of effort to make your home look appealing. Your aptitude for interior design is revealed by Venus in this position, as you may take great pleasure in decorating your space, be it your bedroom or home, create a cozy and welcoming atmosphere for yourself and your loved ones. Spending time at home is crucial to an individual with Venus in the fourth house, and they put in considerable effort to make it inviting and comfortable. 

You are likely drawn to individuals who are clean-cut, traditional, and stable. You seek a long-term relationship rather than a fleeting romance. However, those with this placement typically marry later in life. Emotions play a crucial role in your relationships. You possess intense emotions, and feeling secure and loved is critical for establishing a bond with someone. With Venus in the fourth house, you exude charm and tend to attract partners rather than the other way around. Raising a family with your partner is of great significance to you, and you may have a passion for it. As a cardinal house, the fourth house may also influence your passions and career. With Venus in this position, you may excel as a wedding, party, or event planner, wedding dress designer, interior decorator, house flipper, or jewelry designer.

♡Venus in the 5th house♡

Individuals with Venus in the fifth house possess a deep-seated admiration for sentimental and romantic relationships, as well as emotional attachments that bring them a sense of fulfillment. Their pursuit of love, whether it be a lover, a child, or a work of art, is characterized by an unwavering passion that drives them toward their desires with unwavering determination. They desire to craft something with genuine affection that is truly stunning and leaves an indelible mark on both themselves, as a creator, and the recipients. The act of expressing love is one of the most powerful ways they share a piece of themselves. 

This placement indicates a heightened desire for pleasure and entertainment, which manifests as a strong creative energy and an appreciation for art and beauty. People with Venus in the fifth house are often blessed with natural charm and charisma that makes them attractive to others. However, it is important to balance pleasure with responsibility, as the fifth house also represents happiness, putting one's happiness in the presence of others, love, vices or monetarily luxuries can lead to a shaky and unstable mindset that shifts between optimism and pessimism that depends on what they have and what they don't. It is no surprise that individuals with Venus in their fifth house possess a playful and humorous disposition, making them interesting people who enjoy being the center of attention and entertaining others.

The influence of Venus in the fifth house can enhance one's artistic abilities, such as acting and writing. It is a remarkable combination for producing art since the planet of beauty is situated in the house of creativity. This placement imbues individuals with an imaginative and playful personality, allowing them to go with the flow and exude an appealing quality that draws others towards them. They have a good relationship with their inner child and tend to be childlike and playful, traits that children are naturally attracted to. People with Venus in the fifth house are often skilled at working with children and enjoy nurturing and protecting them.

They usually have an abundance of romantic opportunities as they are very attractive. They value attention and are playful and charming, with plenty of sexual energy. They are drawn to individuals who share their upbeat and fun-loving nature. Hence, this placement suggests that they may have many love affairs. They're attracted to exciting individuals with vibrant personalities, strong creative abilities, and an intense desire for love and pleasure that match their own zest. 

♡Venus in the 6th house♡

Individuals with Venus in the house of Virgo are generally associated with practicality and groundedness. As an earth house, the sixth house prioritizes the pursuit of making a living and facing reality. It is worth noting that health and work are the two central aspects of life that the sixth house focuses on.

For those with Venus in the sixth house, there is a tendency to be detail-oriented and find pleasure in work that encompasses beauty, aesthetics, or creativity. This may manifest as possessing artistic abilities or having a passion for fields such as interior design, fashion, or graphic design. Individuals with this placement possess a keen eye for color, texture, and design and are often drawn to professions that involve helping others, such as healthcare or social work. In essence, Venus in the sixth house indicates a desire for beauty and harmony in the workplace and a commitment to serving others.

Your Venusian signature lies in your ability to be affectionate. You define yourself and your social role through your sensitivity, sense of aesthetics, and ability to be emotive. This often leads to a profession that is directly related to charm, femininity, and art. Ultimately, your place in society and your social function are determined by your ability to seduce, trust your instincts, and your natural preferences.

The distinction between the sixth and tenth houses is crucial to understanding your professional life. The tenth house represents your overall career and life path, while the sixth house represents your job and workplace, where you earn a living and pay your bills. The sixth house is also linked to health, revealing your susceptibility to diseases and what to watch out for. Daily routines that aid in maintaining good health are associated with the sixth house.

Pursuing art and beauty daily is a way of life for those with Venus in the sixth house. Finding beauty in the ordinary is a skill that they possess. Office decorating, interior design, architecture, creating objects of form and function are all areas that can be explored. You possess the ability to bring harmony to the workplace, beauty, and help your coworkers get along. You enjoy providing aid and assistance, which is why those with this placement often work in health or counseling positions, but there are many other jobs where they can indirectly aid others. Collaboration is typically a part of your job.

People with Venus in the sixth house are often conscientious and make excellent employees who are emotionally attached to their work. This placement indicates a job where you spend most of your time in a pleasant work environment. You get along well with your colleagues and are charming, creating a harmonious work environment. Venus in the sixth house makes you popular and well-liked at work, bringing you good fortune in your daily dealings. Your health is excellent, as you prioritize healthy habits such as getting enough sleep, drinking water, and avoiding unhealthy habits. However, if Venus receives difficult aspects, you may be prone to indulging in junk food and other sugary and salty foods.

Success in both work and love often go hand in hand in your life. When you are happy and fulfilled in your job, you radiate happiness, making you more attractive. Those with this placement frequently meet their partners at work, and they may share the same profession or work in the same field. When it comes to matters of the heart, you take a logical approach. You may appear reserved and cold, taking your time to decide if a relationship is right for you. However, once you commit, you are a devoted and caring partner.

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♡Venus in the 7th house♡

The placement of Venus in the seventh house is considered favorable for Venus since it is in her own house, the house of Libra. This placement is believed to bring about a happy marriage and good fortune in relationships. If Venus is not afflicted, then one's spouse is likely to be charming, attractive, and financially well-off. Individuals with this placement tend to perform best when paired up with someone as they dislike being alone. The placement of Venus in the seventh house can reveal valuable insights into an individual's relationships and partnerships. People with this placement are usually highly sociable, possessing an innate charm and charisma that often draws others towards them. Such individuals are quite popular among their peers.

One notable characteristic of individuals with Venus in the 7th house is that their decisions are based more on gut reactions than logical reasoning. When it comes to interpersonal relationships, they tend to feel first and think later. This sensitivity can be a double-edged sword, as it can make them the most charming person in the room when their sensitivity matches that of the other person. However, they can also be vulnerable to unwanted visitors and should approach new relationships with caution.

Regarding romantic relationships, Venus in the 7th house suggests that the individual places great importance on finding a partner with whom they connect on a deep emotional level. They tend to be quite romantic and enjoy expressing their affection towards their partner in various ways. This placement is an excellent sign for a happy marriage, as Venus is here to help them find the person of their dreams and live happily ever after. The spouse is likely to be attractive and charismatic, embodying many of Venus's characteristics. People with Venus in their seventh house have plenty of opportunities to get married.

Individuals with Venus in the 7th house often have a natural talent for public relations or working with the public. They are charming and loving, and the people tend to adore them. They are also well-suited to careers in law or counseling, where their negotiation skills and ability to see the other person's point of view can be put to good use. If Venus is not afflicted, this placement can also bring good luck in legal matters or business partnerships.

However, there is a potential downside to this placement, which is a tendency toward codependency in relationships. Individuals with Venus in the 7th house may struggle to maintain their own sense of identity outside of their partnerships, relying heavily on their partner for emotional support and validation. They value intimacy in their relationships, and emotional bonds are crucial to their sense of well-being. They want a relationship where there is a balance of giving and receiving. Individuals with this placement feel truly loved and worthy only when they are with someone. Finding happiness on their own can be a significant challenge, and they require a sense of belonging to someone. This dependency on others can be a trap, and it can be challenging for them to advocate for themselves in relationships, especially if their Venus is afflicted. To avoid this trap, it is essential for individuals with Venus in the 7th house to cultivate a strong sense of self and learn to advocate for their own needs in their relationships.

♡Venus in the 8th house♡

Your Venus is located in the eighth house, the house of Scorpio, which brings a sense of mystery and allure to your life. You are naturally drawn to hidden things and have a passionate and mysterious personality. This placement indicates that you will benefit greatly from other people in life, especially when it comes to joint resources, inheritance, gifts, and other methods of financial support. However, it also brings intense and transformative experiences in relationships and finances, indicating a strong desire for deep emotional connections and intimacy, while also fearing vulnerability and betrayal. The eighth house represents shared resources and financial gain often enters your life through the finances of others. Relationships help you grow spiritually and financially. Your spouse might leave you a great inheritance.

You have a natural talent for managing resources and investments but need to be careful not to become too possessive or controlling. This placement suggests a need to explore and understand the deeper mysteries of life and love. You have a strong desire to transform other people's sense of beauty and appearance. You should move beyond what the mainstream tells you to like, love, and look like. Shed superficial creativity and notions of beauty and art. Get deep into your creative processes and discover what truly inspires you. You are well-adapted to crises, thrills, wounds, and healings, and your affectivity thrives on contrasts, transformations, and self-questionings. When you explore something you love deeply, you might become so obsessed with it that you let it symbolically (or literally) kill you. People with placements in this house are drawn to mysteries and things that defy logic. You enjoy contemplating everything hidden, and this placement might pique your interest in psychology and spirituality. You are frequently drawn to forensics, detective novels, and horror films. Your ideal way to die would be out of love. 

Venus in Scorpio's house makes you irresistible, but it doesn't guarantee happiness in a relationship. You may struggle to understand emotions and be complete on your own. Your marriage may not last, but when it ends, you will benefit greatly, as you transform and improve after the ending of every vulnerable and intimate connection. In a relationship, you want to share yourself completely and seek your soulmate. You place a high value on intimacy, which may lead to jealousy or possessiveness if you feel hurt or in danger. Sex is an important part of any relationship for you, and you may have numerous kinks and desire to explore your sexuality and limits with a trusted partner. This placement is often fraught with drama, and you may choose the wrong partner for a relationship. Ultimately, you have a strong desire to save and assist others but remember that everyone must first help themselves to solve their problems.

♡Venus in the 9th house♡

This placement of Venus in the ninth is absolutely enchanting, serving as a testament to your positive, bright, and daring spirit. The ninth house has a significant association with the higher self, indicating a deep-rooted interest in spiritual pursuits. When Venus, the planet of love and relationships, is positioned in this house, it points towards an individual who possesses a unique set of values and ethics that they abide by in their daily life. This placement often leads to a preference for partners hailing from diverse cultural backgrounds, with travel being a common means of finding a suitable match.

Your Venus is endlessly inquisitive and constantly seeking out novel experiences, which may account for your profound love of traveling to foreign locations and immersing yourself in different cultures. With Venus situated in the ninth house, it's possible that your significant other hails from a different country or culture, and this placement may also suggest a powerful inclination toward higher education, philosophy, and spirituality. You tend to be drawn to individuals from diverse backgrounds and treasure the values and beliefs that you glean from these encounters. However, it's important to maintain a practical and rational approach to life, even as you embark on the beautiful journey of discovering love as you may lose yourself in absorbing everything in your partner's life, neglecting your own. Your philosophy is rooted in emotions, pleasures, and heartfelt connections, which allow you to explore and excel beyond your limitations. You possess a deep appreciation for wonders, and your emotional life is constantly fueled by exploration and discovery. Your romantic life is akin to a playful game of "love me-love me not," but with exotic flowers instead of daisies. You firmly believe that everything is waiting to be discovered and shared, and you never tire of adding new dimensions to your emotional life.

You possess a natural inclination to explore the world beyond the confines of your hometown. Your passion for adventure, coupled with your desire to experience diverse cultures and religions, is a direct reflection of your Venus placement in the ninth house. Your natural talent for acquiring foreign languages is impressive, and your attraction to individuals of varied backgrounds is quite apparent. You crave the excitement of traveling to exotic destinations, continually seeking to quench your thirst for knowledge and curiosity.

Your sense of independence is highly valued, and you remain open-minded and accepting of others. Should you encounter any constraints, you are not one to remain in a restrictive situation or relationship for long. Education is of utmost importance to you, and you thrive in both formal and informal learning environments. Those with Venus in the ninth house tend to be highly educated and may even pursue careers in teaching with a primary focus on maritime law. Your philosophical interests are strong, and you relish in contemplating life's most profound questions, eagerly engaging in discussions with others.

Higher education and spirituality are two other domains that the ninth house represents, thereby making it likely for individuals with Venus in the ninth house to find their significant other either in college or through spiritual connections. Jupiter, the planet of good fortune, is closely associated with the ninth house, thereby making it a place of abundant positive energy. Venus, being a sensory planet, absorbs this energy, leading to a favorable outcome in terms of marriage. The type of individuals that one is attracted to is also indicated by Venus, and in the case of Venus in the ninth house, one is attracted to individuals who are well-educated, modern and have a broad-minded perspective. Philosophical connections and a shared ethical value system are highly valued in a partner. In addition to this, the ninth house is also associated with in-laws, and with Venus in the ninth house, it is likely for individuals to share a positive relationship with them.

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♡Venus in the 10th house♡

Individuals with Venus in the 10th house are bestowed with a plethora of charming and attractive qualities that can prove to be advantageous in their professional lives. This placement brings forth a sense of balance between the energies of Venus and one's career, resulting in the emergence of success and recognition. The Venusian talents of these individuals are predominantly utilized in their vocations, making them popular among colleagues and superiors. Their public image is likely to be good, and they may excel in fields of directive roles in art, beauty, fashion, or entertainment.

However, this placement can sometimes result in a tendency to prioritize social status and material success over emotional fulfillment and inner satisfaction, leading to an imbalance between professional goals and personal values. To ensure a harmonious equilibrium, individuals must strive to strike a balance between the two.

If your vocation is correlated to aesthetics, art, or decoration, your Venusian qualities such as charm, taste, and receptiveness can prove to be valuable assets in maintaining your ambitions. You may become known for your work in the world as an artist or an innovator who rearranges elements into harmonious forms. Additionally, you may also have creative talents that you can be presented through public performances that make an impression on the audience. This placement also highlights the potential for success as an arbitrator or someone who mediates and resolves conflicts in family or work environments.

People with Venus in the 10th house are passionate about their work and think about the long-term, making plans for the future. They value beauty and grace and consider them as assets that help make them feel powerful in life. A smile is considered the most effective weapon for individuals with Venus in the 10th house. Venus brings good fortune and harmony to the house where it resides, making success in career and professional life easier to achieve.

Working with the general public can also lead to good fortune, and this placement brings social success, making one a born diplomat. Individuals with Venus in the 10th house are courteous, kind, and charming with excellent manners. In the eyes of the public, Venus here makes individuals appear charismatic, graceful, and loving. They are well-liked and adored, and their community knows who they are, with overwhelmingly positive impressions of them.

This placement also indicates a preference for playing it safe and following the rules rather than dictating them. Individuals with Venus in the 10th house are usually attractive and well-dressed, and this placement often shows that authorities and bosses favor them, helping them get ahead in life. In terms of love, these individuals tend to choose partners based on logic rather than emotion, carefully considering whether they will be good partners. They are drawn to powerful and accomplished people but also value trustworthiness and accountability. With traditional values, this placement indicates that these individuals may meet their partners at work or in a professional setting and desire, not just a successful partner but also one that adds and support their own success.

♡Venus in the 11th house♡

When Venus is in the eleventh house, it indicates a desire to socialize, make new friends, and be a part of something bigger. You have a fondness for meeting new people, and as a result, you have made many new friends. These friends often help you advance both professionally and personally. There is always someone available to present you with a new opportunity, introduce you to someone, or involve you in a new project.

Having Venus in the eleventh house is a favorable placement for money matters. This house denotes the income one earns from their profession and the things that come into their life. People with this placement have a diverse set of interests and prefer engaging in activities with others. They are likely to be part of organizations or societies that share a common goal or interest, such as those related to art, fashion, diplomacy, and social causes. They enjoy being part of a group and are regarded as socialites or society's darlings. Their relationships are marked by a deep understanding and complicity, which makes them feel like a whole entity. Although this principle can create some challenges, they strive to maintain exemplary relationships. They have artist friends who share their aesthetic sense, and they tend to meet their partners through social groups or organizations. They are natural leaders, and people are drawn to them. They have a large circle of friends, mostly feminine in nature.

Individuals who possess Venus in their eleventh house tend to be highly intelligent and creative. They enjoy questioning conventional methods of doing things and often wonder if there's a better way to accomplish a task. In their journey, they relish meeting like-minded individuals who share their interests. Venus is commonly associated with clubs and organizations in this domain. Being a part of a group where one can meet new people and assist one another is gratifying. These individuals have an extensive network of professional contacts and love the act of volunteering. It's an excellent way to forge new friendships while simultaneously contributing to the betterment of the world. With this placement, there are frequently humanitarian ideals. Venus in the eleventh house corresponds to being tolerant and open-minded. With the planet of harmony, they connect modern values with traditional ones to create unity between people. The eleventh house represents ideals, and Venus implies that these individuals have a plethora of them, to the point of losing touch with reality in their pursuit of a utopian world they envisioned.

Venus represents how one loves and desires to be loved. Its placement is critical when it comes to one's love life. With Venus residing in the house of friendship, one's partner is also their friend. This is a positive position for long-term relationships since both individuals share similar life goals and aspirations. Individuals with Venus in the eleventh house often attract others with their intelligence. A mental connection is significant to them, and they seek someone who thinks like them. If one hasn't found their soulmate yet, getting involved in social activities, volunteering, fundraising, or charity work may help. Spending time with friends is also essential. Often, these individuals become romantically involved with someone who is their friend or someone they met through friends. It's not uncommon to meet a significant other through volunteering or within the same group or organization that one is a part of.

♡Venus in the 12th house♡

When the planet Venus is in residence in the house of Pisces, where it is exalted and its influence is particularly strong. individuals may experience difficulty with self-esteem and connect with others on a deep level. While Jupiter remains the true benefactor in this astrological situation, Venus still offers some level of protection and guidance. However, it is worth noting that the twelfth house can be a challenging and peculiar place for planets to reside, as their energies often feel distant and difficult to access in one's everyday life. It is not uncommon for those with this placement to find themselves drawn to unavailable partners and engaging in secretive relationships. The twelfth house is typically associated with hidden or subconscious issues, which can make it challenging to overcome these patterns of behavior. 

Despite these challenges, individuals with Venus in the twelfth house may possess a strong spiritual or artistic inclination. However, it is essential to remain mindful of self-sabotage and escapism, working towards greater self-awareness and balance in both personal growth and relationships. Love can be a complex and elusive thing for those with this placement, as they may be seeking an unattainable romantic ideal. 

These natives possess a compassionate heart and a desire to help others, which can attract positive energy and support when they need it most. If you were born with Venus in this house, you may be particularly sensitive and introverted, requiring plenty of time alone to reconnect with yourself.

You particularly possess excellent artistic abilities, as you have the potential to explore the mysterious realm of the twelfth house and use it as inspiration in your art, as well as in your daily life. Engaging in art can be a great way to unwind and relax. However, this placement of Venus also indicates that you have many emotions that you either conceal or keep hidden from others. Some potential themes of your artistic expression may include anything from married life to romantic fantasies, as well as exploring the beauty of nature and wildlife. You may also have a fear of sharing your art with others. It is possible for you to have your work displayed in exhibitions, institutions, or other public spaces. Through your art, you can develop your sense of love and embrace your fears by channeling them into creative expression. You may even find that you are drawn to creating spiritually-inspired or devotional art, including paintings of gods and goddesses, phantasms, fictional characters, fan art, and fantasy art. Despite any challenges that you may face, your creativity can flourish and help you to become stronger.

People with Venus in the twelfth house may find themselves in complex emotional situations. They may develop feelings for individuals who are not available due to reasons such as being married, having a family, or being committed to work. Expressing their feelings may not be an option in such cases. Moreover, even if they are in a committed relationship or married, they may find themselves in love with someone else, which can lead to internal conflict. Despite their desire to remain faithful to their partner, suppressing their emotions may prove to be a challenging task. Conversely, these natives might be victims of cheating and being in a relationship that is characterized by a breach of trust, boundaries, and in the worst cases, abuse. Consequently, their love life may be a source of pain, and they may have experienced heartbreak in the past.

Individuals with Venus in the twelfth house are often attracted to those who have experienced significant suffering or are emotionally unstable. They may be drawn to helping them, but it is crucial to remember that they must first help themselves. This placement may also shed light on hidden bad habits related to excessive self-indulgence. Since Venus is associated with pleasure and enjoying life, individuals with this placement may tend to suppress their need for love, which is a basic human need, and instead project it onto behaviors such as overeating, overspending, or denying themselves happiness.

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Bye Babes ❤

[monstersholygrail]

*cue me draped over a dining chair talking on a telephone while twirling the cord*

“RING RING ITS GARGOYLE HOURS BABY! I WANT A BIG OL’ STORY WITH A DND NERD GARGOYLE AND BANSHEE READER WHO NEEDS HIM CARNALLY AND IS VERY VOCAL!!”

*hangs up before you can respond*

-☎️

*proceeds to call you back over and over again but hang up just as you answer and then giggle like a schoolgirl*

WC: 1.8k

You had it bad. You were absolutely down bad and wrecked for the Gargoyle bartender you had met long ago at your usual bar. In fact, he was the only one you ever really bothered to talk there.

Not many people went looking to pick a Banshee up at a bar. I guess screaming in ecstasy was easily confused with screaming for their impending death. Was death not hot as fuck? You had no idea at this point.

But the Gargoyle bartender was the only one who ever really caught your eye anyway. It didn’t help that not only was he stunningly gorgeous, but he had an amazing personality too. He was a total nerd under all those chiseled stone muscles and frequently acted as the Dungeon Master in your groups DnD campaigns.

You frequently found yourself drifting off in thought, subtly staring at him during game nights or during nights like this. Thats what you were doing even now, stuck in your head thinking about him as you order drink after drink. You didn’t even realize how late it had gone and how much you had to drink.

Until you went to stand up and the world immediately spun. You wobbled, letting out a loud ‘woah’ into the almost empty bar. Luckily Gargoyle bartender was right there to help steady you. A husky chuckle falling past his lips.

“Let me drive you home. I don’t trust anyone else with you right now,” he said into your ear.

Your pussy gushes with arousal, clenching around nothing at his words alone. They send a thrill up your spine and your drink-infused mind leans into him a little too much. But he doesn’t hesitate to firmly hold onto your wide waist to keep you stable against him.

The ride back to your place is silent. Yet comfortable. You two have done a lot together. Battling monsters and going on all sorts of adventures. Through a game, true, but they last hours and go on for months. You trust him.

He helps you up to your apartment due to the fact that the moment he let you go outside of his car you nearly stumbled into the concrete. Walking into your apartment he moves around the space with ease. Having spent more than a handful of game nights here.

Setting you down on your couch he moves to get you some water to help flush the alcohol from your mind. He sits with you, the two of you talking and laughing for hours. Suddenly you’re back to where you were at the bar. Downing drinks and staring the beautiful Gargoyle. Only this time you don’t have to be subtle about it.

By the look in his eyes you could see he was waiting for something. It wasn’t until all the fog had cleared in your mind, your eyes had dried up, and you seemed to get your focus back that you knew what he was waiting for. As if a chain had finally broken, Gargoyle bartender swoops down and captures your lips in a heated kiss.

You inhale sharply, leaning into him immediately. Not believing this was happening. This was really happening. It was all that ran through your mind as the two of you stumbled into your bedroom, throwing your clothes off along the way.

Rolling onto the bed you sprawl out, spreading your thighs wide for him. The moonlight casting a brilliant glow on your glistening folds. The gargoyle growls at your enticing form. His hand curls around his hard aching cock, pumping himself slowly as he watches you clench around nothing.

“Touch yourself,” he snarls. “You don’t know how many nights I’ve spent imagining what you look like touching yourself.”

Your eyes widen and there’s nothing that could’ve stopped you in that moment from sliding your hand down your body. You moan softly as you dip your fingers into your folds, spreading them and showing him all of you. He growls again and you shiver in anticipation, your need for him unbearable.

He slowly works his cock to the sight of you teasing and exploring your cunt as if it’s the first time you’ve ever touched yourself. It has his every nerve on edge. All while your body is shaking, your fingers dripping into your soaked pussy and imagining it’s his thick cock. But god, you know your fingers can’t even compare.

You don’t know how long the two of you go on. Edging yourselves, slowly bringing your bodies to the edge of release. Merely from the sight of watching each other use your hands to bring you to release. You rock into your fingers, body shaking, the tension in the air only making you want his cock that much more.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he says through panting breaths. Your head snaps up to meet his eye and you cry out, a mix of pain and pleasure coursing through you. “Not like this. I want every moment of our first time together burned into your memory.”

“I’m not gonna forget this,” you moan, fucking your fingers even harder.

He laughs, the loud deep and raspy. His hand picks up to match with your pace and he moans, throwing his head back. Only then does he see the rising sun. His eyes widen in alarm.

“F-fuck!”

What you thought was a noise of pleasure has your body going over the edge. Your hips jerk into your hand and you moan loudly as your orgasm crashes through you. Your eyes closing in ecstasy. Gargoyle bartender watches you come undone. He grunts, about to cum himself when suddenly he can’t move.

A second later his body turns to stone, the sunlight pours through the windows and illuminates his strong features. As you come down from your release your eyes flutter open and you immediately gasp to see your Gargoyle a frozen statue standing at the end of your bed.

You knew gargoyles turned to statues in the sun. Your game nights were always exactly that. At night. He worked the night shift at the bar. But you had no idea his stone state looked like this. You didn’t exactly know what to do. You assume there is nothing you can do until the sun sets.

But in the meantime… he’s stuck exactly where he is. Frozen on the edge of a climax. You also know that gargoyles can see feel, hear, and see everything around them while in their stone state.

Oh, you could have fun with this.

You spend the entire day relentlessly torturing him. After you come up with your plan, you head off to take a shower. Not bothering to hide your plush form from his frozen eyes with a towel as you leave your room naked and come back naked.

Given that it was the weekend and you had nowhere to be, you didn’t see the point in wearing clothes at all.

Sometimes during the way you’d watch by, brush your hands along his skin. Every inch you thought might be sensitive. Even his frozen hard cock. But you only bother with lingering touches that were sure to drive him mad.

The day passes by quickly as you come up with way after way of teasing the Gargoyle.

Eventually you come up with the bright idea to put on some spicy entertainment on the tv. That way you can not only tease him with yourself, but with those in the videos as well. Your selection has more than the desired affect as you begin to squirm on your bed, moaning softly. Your hands going back to where they were this morning.

You get lost in the moment, so focused on your own pleasure that you forget everything else. The gargoyle at the end of your bed for one thing. But especially the setting sun.

The first thing the Gargoyle can smell is your arousal. The last thing he had smelt before turning to stone welcomes him back as he returns to flesh. It perfumes the air and riddles his mind with blinding lust. His hand flies off his cock, not wanting to waste his seed on touching himself. Not when you’ve been so naughty all day.

You hear a low growl pierce the air and you freeze. The people on the television long forgotten. You barely have time to look to the end of your bed as he’s pouncing on top of you. All you see is a blur and the next thing you feel is his thick leaking tip making a mess of your folds.

“Was it worth it?” He snarls, meeting your wide eyes. You know you’re in some serious danger but you prepare yourself to get the best fuck of your life.

“Yes,” you don’t hesitate to say.

“No fucking remorse?”

With another growl he slams his cock inside you. Both of you release fierce screams into the air. He doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. It’s only fair after what you’ve been doing to him all day and you welcome it. Writhing and moaning on his cock. Desperately trying to buck up into his furious thrusts.

Gargoyle swears he sees red as he pounds his cock inside you. The sound of your joining echoing off the walls and overpowering the video still running on the tv.

His claws sink into your curvy hips and you arch into him, wanting everything he’ll give you. He brings you down on his massive length even harder, wanting to tease you as much as you’ve been teasing him all day.

And he just does that with the skillful way his dick glides along your wet gummy walls. Keeping you right on the edge just as you had done to him. He leans over you, surrounding you completely and you happily let yourself be consumed.

With this new angle he shifts his hips, grinding his pelvis roughly against your clit. The unique texture of his stone-like skin has your body buzzing and tingly. You let go almost immediately and he makes you cum so hard you can’t hold in your banshee scream as you clench down hard around his length.

The Gargoyle grunts as you squeeze his cock, milking it for all its worth. You’re so perfect, so tight around him. He can’t possibly hold back for another second. He throws his head back, letting out a roar that rivals your scream as he cums deep inside you.

Spurt after spurt it seems never ending. An entire day worth of being pent up spills inside of you. Your body trembles with the aftershocks as you feel him fill you up, keeping your body stuffed full of him.

You sigh in relief, a sense of contentment coursing through you. You had been waiting all day for this too. And it was even better than you imagined. But as you look up at the Gargoyle, catching his heated predatory gaze, you know the night is long from over.

And he doesn’t plan on stopping until the sun comes up.

[confessioncassette]

𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟖+. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐭𝐰 : 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐳𝐳𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐜𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 : 𝟐.𝟗𝐤

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞. 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃. 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 - 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧

Embarrassing. 

That would describe it. The vulnerable feeling walking up the entrance of, happy hotel? Hazbin Hotel?

You didn’t even make it a week in hell. Waking up in this place confused you, you’re not really sure why you’re here. You weren’t a terrible human on Earth, maybe it was lust? Greed? Who knows, but this place makes you sick. You’ve encountered horrors from every corner- robbings, gruesome killings, torture- it just wasn’t your scene. Having to pick yourself up in eternal hell with nothing but the clothes on your back was difficult. 

Until a commercial from the Hazbin Hotel played on a TV while you were walking down the street. 

Would they take you? It would be hell of a lot better to be here than the street. Maybe you could have a chance at redemption… it would be nice to be in heaven. No more paranoia, sleepless nights, or having your soul burn forever. It’d be a fresh start, to flip a new leaf. You could do it, just-

“Why hello there!” 

The abruptness of the front door to the hotel startled you back into reality. 

A tall man resting his hands atop of a cane, dressed in a red suit greets you happily. 

“Hello, I saw your commercial,” you present the poorly drawn hotel poster to him, “I was wondering if you had room for me?”

The man tilts his head to the side, sizing you up and down for a second.

“Splendid! Yes, of course, my dear we have plenty of room for you. I’m Alastor, the host of this hotel, and you are?” The demon stuck out his hand, patiently waiting for you to take it. 

You introduce yourself and shake his hand. Alastors grip is firm and within a millisecond, he eagerly jerks you into the hotel.

“Pleasure to be meeting you, my dear! Quite the pleasure, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!” 

He gestures to the main lobby with his free hand. 

“We recently underwent some renovations after the extermination. Everything is brand new and in tip top shape. So don’t you worry your pretty little head about an old rickety hotel. You’ll be staying in luxury!” His cane thuds on the marble floor, emphasizing his last word.

The hotel is beautiful, you’ve seen nothing like it. Stunningly high vaulted ceilings with walls decorated in patterned maroon wallpaper, beautiful velvet curtains draping the large windows, golden light fixtures, a push carpet acting as a runway leading up to a giant staircase in the middle of the lobby. A bar to the left, and a common room to the right. Everything is spaced out, but it feels home-y.

Maybe this wasn’t a bad decision after all.

Alastor was a pure gentleman. He was polite, entertaining and a bit of a sweet talker. He gave you a thorough tour throughout the hotel, and everything is much more than the commercial seemed. 

You met the current residents at the hotel as well, who welcomed you with open arms. And the princess of hell, Charlie, was the most ecstatic to meet you. Bringing you into a giant hug, her eyes practically glistened with joy, “We are here to help you, and we are so happy you’re here!”

–

You hit 1 month today.

Walking down the grand entrance stairs you were surprised by all your friends congratulating you on your “anniversary.” 

A poorly made sign (KunGratZ!), most likely made by Nifty, hung over the bar, balloons scattered the marble floor and everyone was waiting for you by the large dining table. In the middle of it, sat a beautifully decorated white and red cake. 

“Happy 1 month today,” Charlie squeals, “you’ve been doing great!”

Despite this being a small accomplishment, Charlie and Vaggie planned the rest of the day in celebration of you. 

Everyone enjoyed games, drinks and some people even gave you gifts. Nifty gave you a handmade knife, “to kill the angels”, Charlie made you a bracelet, Angel got you a lovely pink robe, Vaggie gifted you a pair of stockings. Husk gave you all the alcohol you could want, while trying to teach you how to gamble. You and Angel danced to music played by Alastor’s microphone cane until everyone joined in. By the end of the night, everyone had their fill of alcohol and food. 

You ache with gratitude. 

It was quite a lot for 1 month living here, but this is what they do. It’s only been a month, but it feels like family- your home. 

And by midnight, Husk asked what your goal in hell would be. 

“To be redeemed. To go to heaven and live forever as a pure soul! Thank you for everything you have done for me so far guys.”

“Cheers to that,” he nods, lifting up a glass of whiskey. “To you, dear friend.” 

–

“Alright, goodnight toots, I’m off ta bed.” Angel stretches, getting up from the sofa. You both were engaged in deep drunk conversation for a few hours now. Circling the drink in your glass, you suppose it’s time for you too to get off to bed. 

“Goodnight, Angel.” You smile as he blows a kiss in return before he exits the living room. 

Yawning, you get up from the sofa, almost falling. How much have you had? You’re buzzed pretty bad. 

“Need help, my dear?” The familiar static-y voice lingers behind you. 

“Oh, Alastor-think i had t’much.” You smile and you can feel your flushed cheeks radiate heat. 

“Now, now sweetheart. You’re in good hands. May I?” A gentle hand comes to rest on your lower back. 

You nod, letting him easily scoop you up. Your face cradles into his neck. Feels kind of funny, having the spins and being carried. 

“Did you have a good time tonight?” His voice rumbles in his chest as he talks. 

You giggle, “Keep talking, it feels nice.” 

He hums and it satisfies you. “Everyone is proud of you. Not many people in hell are open to the option of being rehabilitated or changed. You should be incredibly proud of yourself.”

“Did you have fun tonight?”

“I sure did, sweet girl. I loved playing all your tunes tonight. I haven’t heard of most of them, but they were catchy.” 

Your weight in his arms shift as he walks up the stairs. 

“How long have you been in hell?” You ask.

“For quite some time. I could tell you hundreds of stories about how hell was before you got here. Maybe stories before most people got here. The times are changin’.” 

“A lil’ over a month f’me,” you grumble, “I don’t know why I came in the first place.”

“Now darling, you’re at the safest place in hell. Don’t you worry, soon enough you’ll be climbing up that ladder to heaven.”

You sigh.

“Isn’t that what you want?” His ear twitches. 

It takes you a moment to reply, trying to collect all your runaway thoughts. 

“Yes, but, do we know this even works? Does all this work like that? Am I really able to cleanse my soul?” Your chin lifts up to meet his eyes already staring back at you.

Alastors boots click down the hallway and stop at front of your door. Without putting you down, your door clicks and opens. You keep talking to him as he gently lays you down on your bed. Your plush pillows and soft bedding caress you, trying to lull you to sleep in your drunken state.

“I thought souls stay here to burn forever. I never thought a place like this would even exist in a world like…this.” 

Alastor stands next to your bed, red eyes gleaming down on you through the darkness of your room. His figure half illuminated by the moon, microphone at the top of his cane reflecting in the light. 

“Charlie is a dreamer.” He sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “She believes it can be done.”

With your eyes fighting to stay open, you close them and put the emptiness beside your bed. “But do you believe it can be done? Keep talking to me, Alastor. I like when y’talk. You know you were my first friend here?” 

“Darling, you’re a pleasure to be around. Your company brings a lighter feel to a room.” He coos as he settles himself. Your bed dips as he sits. 

“Maybe one day you can come up to heaven with me. Wouldn’t that be fun? We could foxtrot on the clouds.” You giggle. 

“You might need a few more lessons in that before then dear, but yes, I suppose that sounds like a grand ol’ time.”

He waits a moment before speaking again, “You really want to get to heaven, don’t you?”

You mumble a yes to him, “You didn’t answer me before Alastor. About if you believe it can be done?”

He adjusts himself to face you directly. “I know it can be done.”

Your eyes shoot open. 

“Really? How?”

“If it’s cleansing your soul you’re looking for, I can do that myself.” 

“Really? You perk up, “You’d help me?”

He cocks his head to the side, looking down at you through hooded eyes. That cat like grin grows wide. 

“Of course! I’m the radio demon, look at all the things I’ve done to this hotel. All the things I’ve done to protect this place. Now, I don’t go around telling people this, so keep this our little secret,darling would you?” He waits for you to nod excitedly. “I once helped someone get to those pearly gates before.”

A demon like him was able to help someone go to heaven before? Alastor is so many great things, you’ve seen it yourself, but this? This was your ticket. He could do this for you, and he’s always helped you before. He’s never let you down. Alastor has been your tride and true.

The smile on your face shows Alastor all too well that you believe him. He knows your pretty head is filled with trust. He’s never given anyone a reason not to. And he knows how naive you are. A sweet, simple naive little girl. So new to this world… 

“I’ll do the best that I can every day if you can grant me this one wish, Alastor. I’ll work hard and you cleanse my soul.”

Alastors eyes darken as his ears twitch. 

“Make that a deal?” He leans in, extending his hand to you like he did that first day. The first day of your new life in hell. His ears twitch in anticipation, and you take it a second later.

“A deal! Thank you so mu-”

In an instant, you’re pushed down on the bed. 

Alastors body is quick to climb over yours. His hands have an iron grip on your wrists. 

“Might as well cleanse your soul now, right darling? No better time to, no time to waste!” 

You gasp and wiggle in his grip. As if agitated, his knee pushes up and into your leg, making you open for him. The dress you wear slides up to your waist as he does this. 

“What is it? Don’t believe me?” He pouts, fakeness and mockery ooze through his voice.

“No-I,” your brain is hazy from the alcohol. Your mind is spinning a million miles a minute. 

“Good, never doubt me again.” He growls, voice stuttering and filled with loud static. Pushing your wrists deeper into the bed, he places his hips between your legs. 

“You want to see those gates in the sky? You want to leave?”

His hips grind into yours, his cock already hard. The coarseness of his pants hit into every nerve of your clit.

“I-” you begin.

“Don’t I do enough for you here? Cleansing a soul, HA!” One of his hands shoots down between your legs and rubs harsh circles over your bundle of nerves. 

You let out a moan and arch your back off the bed. Unsure of why your body is responding to him like this. 

“You trust me, yes? So allow me to cleanse your soul, by chaining yours to me.” 

Your brain is too busy swirling to realize what you just did, the deal you just made, and the giant loophole Alastor just wiggled his way into. You buck your hips into his touch, your slick coating your panties. His fingers dance over your covered clit, made easy by your juices collecting there. 

His fingers press roughly into your nerves, and you’re becoming an unholy mess. Your eyes fuse shut, feeling every movement he gives you. And it feels fucking good…

“Feels s’good,” you moan. Bucking your hips relentlessly now, silently begging for him to keep going. 

“I’ll play nice, since you ever so graciously trusted me with your soul.” He coos, upping his pace for you. His lips come down to gently kick your neck. 

“Let go, be a good girl and cum for me.” 

It’s torture. His rough hands give steady and hard pressure, rubbing little fast circles, all while his mouth gives you coaxing soft kisses. 

“I’m gunna-”

His eyes are blown wide, a snarl catches his smile as he eagerly watches every muscle in your face as your head lolls to the side. Your beautiful mouth slacks open and your moans play him a lovely song. 

And there it goes, the pressure in your lower belly breaks. You give him everything he wants. Hot pleasure sizzles every corner of your body and you hump his hand through your orgasm. 

He hums as he watches you work your way down until you slowly stop grinding your hips into his. 

“Up you go, sweet girl.” Hands cradle your back, picking you up slightly to position you to the edge of the bed. Always with care as if every movement was thought out and afraid to break you. 

His body now stands at the edge of the bed, hands pressing your knees open and then guiding your legs around his waist. 

“Who do you belong to now?” He effortlessly takes his cock out of his pants. No time for removing clothes. 

You look down to see him. He’s big, you’re not sure you could take that…

A hand grips your face, “I know you’re curious darling, and you’ll have your fill, but don’t ignore me again or I’ll make this hurt more than you want.”

His face is so close to yours now, you can feel the tip of his cock poking at your clit and it makes you melt. 

“Yours, Alastor.”

He gently grinds his cock over your clit. All the way down the shaft to where his balls press against your slick opening, to all the way back up to his tip. He does this slowly, watching your every move like you're prey. His prey, ready to devour you in an instant. 

“What’s mine, now?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. His antlers grow bigger and the grip on your waist now pricks with pain from his claws. 

“My soul, my soul is yours.” His cock sliding up and down your cunt makes your furrow your brows and whimper for him. You don’t care, you don’t give a fuck, you just want him to keep making you feel the way you do right now. 

“Good girl.” Positioning himself to your opening, he dips his tip in just to catch your juices. As he pulls out, he slicks your wetness in circles over your opening, coating himself with you. 

Without warning, he thrusts in with one sharp movement. You gasp, mouth open for him, and he forcibly sticks his fingers in your mouth. His thumb acts as a hook under your chin. 

“You’re bonded to me forever,” he growls. The fingers in your mouth press down on your tongue as he begins a steady and rough pace. Your body bounces back and forth on the bed, sliding yourself onto him over and over again. You give into the sensation and your body goes limp with pleasure. Your knees slack dead weight to the sides, but your feet still link behind his waist. 

“You’re a lovely sight, who knew you were so naive. A pretty, little naive baby who doesn’t know any better.” 

You coat his fingers with saliva, and he’s fixated on watching it roll down his arm and your neck, letting it pool on the comforter.  

“Look at you, I already broke you, ha!” 

His pace begins to quicken. “You’re so good for me. It drives me mad.” 

He fucks up into you at a relentless pace, everytime he thrusts into you his cock kisses your cervix, over and over and over… 

“Is my darling going to take my cum? I’m going to fill your little cunt.” His hand forces your head to nod for him, and you do your best to say yes with his fingers still in your mouth. 

“You’re clenching around me so hard, I know you want my cock to fill you up.” Taking his hand out of your mouth, his wet hand finds your hip. His hands curl around you, claws wrapping around the small of your back, bouncing you back and forth onto him. 

His eyes are wild, his snarl exposes his gums and his ears are flat as he humps into you just one more time until snarling in your ear as he fills you up. You can feel his pulsing cock deep within you as his warmth seeps in every corner of your cunt. 

He grinds into you as he finishes his high. Once he’s done, his grip on you loosens and fingers smooth over the scars he left. 

The smile on his face is dark as he looks into your eyes. 

His toy for eternity. 

[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog to give the creature power. Like to befriend them.

[holdmytesseract]

Mother Knows Best

☆ The Baby Fever AU ☆

Loki x Y/N feat. Frigga

Summary: Loki is quite a bit uncertain and afraid of becoming a father - but luckily his mother is here to soothe his worries. After all, mother knows best, right?

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, sweet Loki and Frigga moments, Loki being a mama's boy and very protective, pregnancy things

Word Count: 1,5k

a/n: Finally some Baby Fever again, yaay! 🤗 To write this sweet, lil' story has been on my mind for a long time... I hope y'all enjoy it!

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

divider by the lovely @fictive-sl0th <3

"Darling?" Loki opened slowly the door of the meeting room in which you were going to give a lecture in about twenty minutes for a few SHIELD agents.

"Come in!" You called out to your husband; allowing him to enter the small room.

Loki found you currently connecting your laptop to the projector hanging on the ceiling. He smiled watching you work and decided to step closer.

"Hey, babe!" Your beautiful Y/E/C eyes lit up when you met his gaze.

Those irises are shining even more now, Loki noticed; his mind immediately connecting it to the famous pregnancy glow. The mere thought caused his heart to skip a beat. Twelve weeks in and he still quite couldn't believe it.

"Hello, my love." The god reciprocated your radiating smile and passed by the huge table in order to get to you.

Greeting you with a lingering kiss, you welcomed him with open arms; crossing your hands behind his neck.

"And you, babe? Off to visit your parents?" Loki smiled; confirming your suggestion with a nod. "Well, rather my mother, since my father will most likely be busy as always - but indeed. I'm going to Asgard now. Is that alright, my love? Are you getting along... alone?" "Sure. I am almost done preparing and-" "That's not what I meant, Y/N," your husband interrupted you; slight worry reflecting on his face. One of his hands travelled to rest on the tiny baby bump, which became clearly visible mere two days ago. Concerned blue eyes looking from your face to the bump and back.

"Getting ready for your lecture?" He asked; hands landing on your hips; thumbs immediately starting to rub soft circles into your clothed skin.

You nodded and buried your hands in his raven locks. "Mhm. I hope the technology is working properly this time." You let out a small laugh. "Fingers crossed that it will work." Loki chuckled and leaned against the white, wooden table; pulling you softly with him, so that you came to stand between his spread legs.

"I hope it is showing you some mercy today." You nodded, "Would be favourable, yup." and paused for a moment to just admire the stunningly handsome man in front of you. His raven hair was wild and free; falling in gentle waves over his broad shoulders. Loki was wearing a traditional green, gold and black Asgardian tunic. You loved it when he wore the clothes of his home.

Your husband gave you a last look, before he vanished in the familiar rainbow light of the Bifrost.

"I know," You winked at him and stood on your tiptoes to press your lips against his for another kiss. "We're good, I promise. Please, go and visit your parents." "Are you really sure, my love?" You gave him a nod and smile. "To 100 per cent. You wanted to visit them since two months..." He swallowed - and you could see that a bit of guilt flashed in his eyes. "Yes, but... I-I couldn't leave you alone. You know I didn't want to. Not until you passed the first critical twelve weeks-" "Which I did today," you interrupted him; taking his free hand in yours and placing the other on top of his, which was still splayed over your stomach.

"Go, babe. I'm sure Frigga is dying to enfold her youngest son in her arms." Loki nodded; gave you a soft smile and a kiss. "I'll see you later. Call Heimdall if something is wrong. He can send me straight back." You smiled; squeezing his hand, before you let go. "Noted, babe. See you later - and please greet your parents from me." Loki walked to the open space at the back of the room, "Definitely, my love." and looked up to the ceiling. "Heimdall? Please take me home!"

"Thank you, Heimdall. I appreciate this very much." The man in golden armour gave Loki a small bow. "I informed the king and queen of your arrival. You are awaited." He gave him a nod in order to thank him and made his way towards the royal palace.

The first thing Loki did, when his feet touched Asgardian ground, was to straighten his tunic and run a hand through his long curls. He didn't want to look dishevelled when meeting his parents. He was a prince after all...

"Welcome home, my prince." Heimdall greeted Loki; giving him a nod. "Thank you, Heimdall. It's been quite a long time... Great to be back." "Indeed..." Heimdall started to smile. "But you had your reasons. Lady Y/N has probably already conveyed my greetings, but... Congratulations, again, my prince." Loki couldn't help but smile; grateful that he got along with the Gatekeeper so well by now - which certainly had not always been the case.

Once the younger prince of Asgard arrived at the gates of the palace, he already saw his mother waiting for him; a big smile displayed on her face. "Loki..." She welcomed her son with open arms. The god smiled; his heart sloshing over with love. "Mother."

Frigga immediately pulled him into a tight hug - and not letting go again. "Congratulations, my son - from the bottom of my very heart. I'm so, so proud of you. Of the wonderful man you became."

The god had a hard time to hold back his tears - but he couldn't. Neither could Frigga.

"I love you, mother."

"Thank you, mother," he choked out; hot, salty liquid dripping from his chin and soaking the fabric of Frigga's dress.

He felt how the queen started to shake her head, before she backed up a bit, in order to cup her son's cheeks. She wiped his tears away with her thumbs; staring into his matching blue eyes. The Allmother smiled; still seeing the little boy Loki once was standing in front of her.

"No, Loki... You don't have to thank me. You did this. You made all this on your own." The god smiled through his tears and pulled her into another hug.

Frigga buried a hand in his locks; squeezing his tall body. "I love you, too, son."

"How is Y/N doing?" Frigga continued to speak after a few steps. "Everything alright with her and the baby?" Loki nodded quickly. "Yes, yes. She and the baby are doing well." "That is reassuring to hear."

After the heartily reunion of mother and son, Frigga took her son on a little walk through the nature of Asgard.

"Where's father?" Loki asked, while strolling alongside Frigga down the forest path with her arm looped through his. "He's joining us later," Frigga answered and gave her son a little mischievous smile. "I allowed myself to take a selfish moment alone with you." He couldn't help but chuckle.

Another few steps passed in silence, until a small giggle slipped past the Allmother's lips. "I still can't believe that my littlest boy is going to become a father soon." Loki responded with a light-headed chuckle of his own. "Me neither, mother. It... It's still quite overwhelming from time to time. Especially now since Y/N is starting to show. I-"

Once again, he had to fight the tears.

He sighed; knowing that he wasn't able to hide anything from his mother. "I... I am excited, yes. But I am also so afraid. What if I am... A bad father? What if I can't be the person this child needs me to be? What if I fail, mother?" Frigga immediately stopped in her movements; causing Loki to stop, too. "Loki..." She took his hands. "You will not fail." "What makes you think that? Why are you so certain of this? Failing is in my nature, I-" The Allmother smiled; interrupting her child once more. "It's not. You did not fail your probation." Loki blinked. "You did not fail the beautiful relationship you have with your wife." "Y-Yes, but..." Frigga squeezed his hands. "No buts, son. You won't fail. You're going to be the best father. Your heart and the love you will feel for this small creature is going to guide you, believe me."

"I-I'm so incredibly happy." Frigga smiled. "And it shows, son. You have all the right to be happy. You deserve it and yet... I feel something overshadowing your happiness. What is it?"

The god's eyes widened at his mother's words. How in all the nine realms was she able to- "Motherly instinct, sweetheart. You'll know what I'm talking about as soon as you hold your very own child in your arms. Tell me." "M-Mother, I-" "Nuh.Uh," she interrupted him immediately again. "Loki, when are you finally going to understand that lying to me will never work? You may be able to trick all the others around you... But not me."

Loki’s features softened. "Truly?" "Yes. I know this is frightening and a big change, but... Don't let your fears overshadow your happiness. You've grown, sweetheart. You're stronger and wiser - and you have a wonderful lady by your side."

The god smiled; letting his mother's words sink in.

Loki nodded; letting go of Frigga and gestured towards the little path. "After you."

"Thank you. I really hope you're right." Frigga lifted a hand to cup his cheek. "I know I'll be right. I can feel it." Loki turned his head to place a soft kiss on her wrist.

The goddess smiled. "Let's head back to the palace, shall we? I bet your father is already awaiting us."

Tags: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @multifandom-worlds @jennyggggrrr @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @herdetectivetheorist @hisredheadedgoddess28 @chennqingg @princess-ofthe-pages @km-ffluv @brokenpoetliz @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loz-3 @jaguarthecat @icytrickster17 @eleniblue @yourfriendlyslytherinhc @kimanne723 @lou12346789 @smolvenger @lokisrealpurpous @isaidoop @lokisgoodgirl @aagn360 @cakesandtom @alexakeyloveloki @glitchquake (Continuing in the comments)

[walkingnearfoxes]

The Right of the First Night (Homelander x Reader)

After Vought's Christmas gala, the Homelander kindly pays you and your husband a visit at home.

I deleted this on accident on account of being an ancient being who doesn't understand Tumblr. Enjoy. Again. Oi.

NSFW below the cut. Mildly dubious consent and Homelander not respecting the sanctity of marriage. Female, she/her Reader. A lot of filth.

Vought demanded a lot from your husband. As one of the newest managers in data analytics, he spent most of his waking hours twisting this number or that data point to make the Seven look as stellar as possible. You honestly didn't understand very much of his work; on the rare days he worked from home, the multiple screens he processed through looked like a sci-fi movie to you. The quirky but lovable coder hacks the government with three clicks. Luckily, you didn't need to understand the intricacies; you just had to ensure he ate and drank water between crunching enough percentages to make your head spin.

On the weeks when you scarcely saw his face, you had to remember the positives. His salary, for once, was enough to keep you both comfortable without you needing to contribute. You did, of course, but primarily out of guilt. Your husband, the unfairly wonderful man he is, reminded you repeatedly that the money didn't matter; he just wanted you to be happy. That was an additional positive.

Another one was the fact that his work events were absurdly over-the-top. Vought was determined to make each holiday celebration the best holiday celebration. Your favorite had become the Christmas gala. The tower became a winter wonderland; you could spend hours admiring the unique silver snowflakes that dotted each dining table, the stunningly ornamented pine trees that reached the ceilings, or simply the beautiful outfits the most important faces of the company put together - not to mention that this was the closest you ever got to the superheroes.

Your husband didn't speak much about or to the heroes. If something was terrible enough in data analytics for a supe to come directly to him, something had gone wrong. Starlight was his favorite, by far. She was kind, and genuine, and was still the only hero who had introduced herself to you at a gala.

"Your husband is a miracle worker," she told you warmly last year. "I don't know how he makes those numbers work, but he does."

You didn't know either, but it was nice to know that at least one of the Seven appreciated your husband’s long hours. The others were, at best, polite. His brief elevator interactions with Maeve were scarce, Black Noir's silent visits to the department were fine, and the Deep was an idiot. None of this surprised you. What intrigued you most were his comments on the Homelander.

"He's...focused." Your husband said one day over dinner when you asked. "I mean, if the head of the Seven has to come to my door, it's not a pleasure visit.”

You tilted your head curiously. "But what's he like?"

He smirked at you over his glass. "Besides stunningly handsome, you mean?"

You shot him a glare. Your little crush on the Homelander was a well-known secret between you. "Yeah, besides that."

He shrugged. "Nothing bad enough has happened for us to speak directly. But he seems...fine."

There was clearly more to it than that, but your cat knocking over a plate derailed the conversation. You never got a complete answer from him about the Homelander, and the curiosity carried you to the latest Christmas shindig.

As usual, Vought went all out. You are leaning against a standing table, tilting your head to admire the blue tapestries hung to mimic a night sky. A bright red drink is placed in front of you, and you look up to meet your husband's warm eyes.

"A merry, merry margarita for you," he says, holding a green concoction. “And a Christmas Cookie Cocktail for me."

You snort as you sip the margarita, cinnamon and tequila delicately touching your tongue. "These names get better every year."

"I clearly picked the wrong department." He looks across the room and makes accidental eye contact with a data director. "There it is. You sure you don't want to make handshaking rounds with me?"

You shake your head. "They want to talk to you, not me. I don't even know what I would say."

"Hello, maybe?"

You nudge his arm. "Go. I can survive on my own for a few minutes."

"Fair enough," He kisses your cheek and then steps away. "Don't let the Homnelander whisk you away, alright?"

You wave him off with a flush. "No promises."

You easily kept yourself busy as you meandered around the spacious room. You waved to a few familiar faces, refilled your cocktail, and even briefly conversed with Starlight about the carolers. They had apparently won a few Grammys. You finally end up next to the newest statues of the Seven in the middle of the celebration. Somebody, you could only assume a poor intern, placed Santa Clause hats on top of each solemn hero’s stony head. You can’t help but laugh under your breath.

You hear your first name from behind you. The voice is vaguely familiar, but you can’t place it. It’s a shock to your system when you turn to see the Homelander smiling at you. 

Your immediate instinct is to check around you because there's no way that the captain of the Seven is standing here and greeting you like an old friend. In events past, you only ever saw him swarmed with the top faces of the party. What is he doing here, alone, staring at you with a growingly puzzled expression?

Oh. You're staring at him now.

He tilts his head with a curious smirk. "I got your name right, didn't I?"

"Oh! Yes!" you say quickly, inwardly cringing at how breathless you sound. “I'm so sorry. I'm still not used to seeing heroes so close."

Dear God, that sounded awful.

Luckily, his grin just widens. "But this is your fifth gala, isn't it? Surely you're used to our faces by now."

Does he know you? You blink in surprise as he saunters closer to you, his arms gently folded behind him. "I'd be a horrible leader if I didn't know our best managers,” He explains.

He tilts his head again and asks you - more as a formality, it seems - if you are indeed your husband's wife. He uses your husband's first and last name, to be sure.

You nod with a smile, tightening your grip on your glass. "Yeah, that's me," you say softly, making the Homelander flash a grin with teeth. “Do you know everyone here?"

He glances at the crowd casually and then back at you. "Only the interesting people," He corrects. "Enjoying the party?"

Your nod. "Yeah. These galas get more fun every year."

"More crowded, you mean," He walks to stand beside you, close enough that your elbows touch, and sighs dramatically up at the statue. "This I did not agree to."

You follow his line of sight to the Santa hats. You giggle softly and hope he doesn’t notice your nerves - though you’re positive he does. "But it makes you all so festive. Besides, red is your color."

The Homelander turns to look at you with a new glint in his eye. "True…”

Before you can respond, you feel a familiar hand wrap around your elbow to the opposite side of Homelander. You look up to see your husband's face. He's smiling, but you know him. His brow is slightly furrowed, and his smile is too wide. He almost looks worried.

"Sorry that took so long, honey," He greets quickly, gently squeezing your arm. "I couldn't-"

The Homelander cuts off with an enthusiastic greeting of your husband's name. He turns to clap his shoulder, his red glove contrasting with your man's dark suit. The movement makes the three of you form a close triangle in front of the statue. When Homelander speaks, his voice is loud. Dominant, even.  "Can't thank you enough for your help on those point differentials in Montana. Gotta figure out who's in charge of things out there, huh?"

Your husband lets out a forced laugh. "Yeah, it's no problem."

Homelander is still holding onto his shoulder. "Quite a wife you have here," He says with a nod to you. "Hope you don't mind I stole her time...can't leave a gorgeous woman like this alone. You never know what might happen."

Before your husband can reply, Homelander lets him go. He turns to you and holds a hand. "So nice meeting you, but I have a grumpy senator or two I need to charm."

On instinct, you hold out your hand to him. His fingers easily encompass yours - and for a fraction of a moment, you feel he may never let go. You feel his raw strength electrify the touch and imprison you; your whole body clenches. He gives you a private wink, and then he lets go. "I'll be seeing you soon."

With a whisk of his cape, he's gone as quickly as he arrived.

You stare after the stars and stripes as they slowly disappear into the crowd. Only when you can no longer see them do you look up at your husband's pale face. "Was that weird?"

Your husband takes your hand, the same hand Homelander had just held in his grasp. "Not really."

You know a conversation shut-down when you hear one and don't press further. After all, you remember, it's not wise to gossip about a person with supersonic hearing.

~-~

You stay at the party for another hour, but your husband’s mood has shifted. He doesn't seem unhappy, but he's undoubtedly unsettled. There's a new suddenness to his movements, as if he's ready to scan the room at a moment's notice - far too vigilant for a holiday party.

The early cab ride home continues in this strange silence. It's not tense, but it's not comfortable either. The air feels charged down the roads of Manhattan to your townhome. You don't test it. Something about that interaction with the Homelander has unnerved your husband in a way you don't understand. If your husband is still silent when you get home, then maybe you'll broach the subject. 

When you do get home, you go about your usual routines: turning back on the lights, checking on the cat, and refilling their food and water bowl. Your husband takes care of that while upstairs to scrub the makeup off of your face. You turn on the lights in the ensuite bedroom.

The Homelander is sitting at the foot of your bed. 

Shockingly, you don't scream. You stare. He sits there like he's been there for hours, his hands folded in his lap. The calm facade peels into a friendly smile at your lack of a reaction to him - as if he ran into you in a grocery store, not in the middle of your bedroom.

"Thought you could sneak out early on me, huh?" He asks. 

You stutter. "What..." You shake your head. "What are you-"

"Honey?" Your husband's voice calls as he bounds up the stairs, only to stop dead behind you at the sight before him. You can't see his face, but you can feel his fear. "H-Homelander..."

"Oh, why the shocked faces?" Homelander laughs and stands off the bed, sauntering towards both of you. "I told you I’d be seeing you later, right?"

Your husband steps in front of you. "Whatever this is about-"

Homelander says your husband's name like he's speaking to a puppy pissing on the carpet. His left hand curls into your husband's shirt, and he lifts him an inch off the ground with horrifying ease. He places him down in the nearby chair and pats his cheek twice. "Don't make a fuss. I'm not gonna hurt her."

It takes you a moment to recover from seeing how easily he moved your husband before finding your voice. "Why are you here?" You whisper.

He turns and slowly lowers his face to be level with yours. His lips are a breath away, and his eyes run over every part of you like savoring a meal. "For you, of course. This is my favorite part of the gala."

You make a sound halfway between a gasp and a squeak. The Homelander smirks. "Oh, come on. You've been dreaming of this, haven't you? That comment about me whisking you away?" He winks at your husband before looking back at you. "I mean, I'm not gonna lie, I've thought about fucking you for a while now, but that just sealed the deal."

Your husband stutters. "Homelander-"

"Nuh uh, buddy," Homelander holds a finger in your husband's face before slowly turning to look at him. "This is not a negotiation. You'll be a good little boy and sit over there while we have fun."

Your husband’s eyes widen, but he says nothing and settles back in the chair. Homelander laughs. "That's what I thought. I know a fucking cuck when I see one."

You’re staring at your husband. Homelander notices this, and his hand angles to cup under your jaw. The leather of his red glove is smooth and warm against your skin, sending a shiver through you. His thumb brushes slowly across your lips. "Don't worry about him," He purrs. "You won’t be giving him a damn thought in a minute.”

The Homelander uses his hold on your jaw to tilt your chin up. For a moment, he simply observes you. To him, you are a prize. Then, he presses his face forward and runs his nose up the length of your neck. He inhales loudly. Goosebumps prickle along your skin when he growls. “Fucking perfect.” His free hand traces along the bottom of your dress, gently pushing the fabric up your thigh. He possessively grabs your smooth skin. “This an expensive dress, honey?”

You swallow, watching his eyes follow the movement down your throat, and you find your voice. “Yes…”

He hums. “...well, put in an IOU.”

In an upward pull, Homelander rips the fabric of your dress in half like he’s ripping tissue paper. He tosses its remains to your husband without looking at him. He’s instead looking at your matching bra and panties with an approving whistle. “Oh, buddy,” He looks at your husband with an almost sympathetic gaze. “You were going to get some tonight. What a damn shame.”

Homelander comes forward and slowly, as if he’s savoring the wait, takes your breasts in his hands. You hear a low sigh of approval under his breath as he gently squeezes, his thumbs brushing delicate circles over your nipples. You inhale sharply, and looks up at your face with a knowing smirk. “Don’t play coy, sweetheart. I can smell how wet you are. Must be uncomfortable.”

One of his hands rubs down your stomach - he growls under his breath again at your soft skin - and curls his fingers around your underwear. “You’re used to boys tugging at you like a little sex doll. It’s okay now. You have me. You have a god.”

He rips away the last of your clothing so you stand fully exposed in front of America’s icon. The chill of the air and the complete attention of the two men in the room light your skin with more goosebumps. Homelander takes a moment to look at you again; he has all the time in the world. Finally, he steps forward and rests a hand gently on your hip. “Well, no wonder he tried to hide you from me…”

He’s kissing you. He kisses you to devour you whole, all tongue and teeth and passion, in a way that makes your head spin. You don’t even realize how your hands curl into the front of his suit, how your body instinctively presses to his. He maps out every inch of your mouth, and you moan for him when his hand curls around the back of your neck. He shows no signs of stopping, but you are only human and must breathe. You pull away as much as the hand on the back of your neck will allow you - which is your lips remaining an inch apart. Your eyes open, and you’re in awe at the hunger in his blue stare. “Atta girl…”

Your unconsciously look to your husband. He hasn’t moved from his seat. He sucks at his lower lip, and when your gaze wanders, you can’t help a quiet gasp. He’s hard.

“Back here with me, pumpkin,” Homelander murmurs, grabbing your chin to bring you back to him. “You’re mine tonight, remember?”

You tentatively nod, but he shakes his head. “Oh no, I’m gonna need to hear you say it.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and he eagerly follows the movement before you reply. “I’m yours tonight.”

Homelander hums in thought and then sighs playfully. “Sounds like someone needs some convincing…up we go.”

Both of his hands move to your hips, and with an ease that startles a yelp out of you, he lifts you clear off the ground. You don’t have time to ground yourself before he’s tossing you backward onto the bed. Despite being airborne for a moment, he seems to be careful not to hurt you - not right now, anyway. You land on your back with a quiet “oof” and instinctively move to sit u, but findyou cannoto move. You look down to find Homelander keeping you trapped with just the tips of his fingers on your hip. He stands at the foot of the bed and stares down at you, a slight tilt to his head that ambles somewhere between playful and devious. “Where’d you think you’re going?”

He moves his hand to your knee and tugs you down the bed, smirking at the soft squeal from you it earns him. He slowly kneels while hooking your legs over his shoulders, careful to mind his eagle pads. “You have any idea how hard it was not to bend you over in that fucking shitstorm of a gala? I should have. No one could’ve stopped me, not even your poor husband. God, you would’ve loved it. All those eyes on you while I fill up this pretty pussy…”

His lips are gentle as they kiss along your thighs, stopping only to leave nips that make your hips jolt. One red glove lays flat on your hips to easily hold you down so he can carry on at his own pace. When he finally reaches your cunt, you’re pretty positive you would do anything the hero asked of you - and when his tongue licks a slow stripe up your lips, you’re certain. 

You had never spent much time wondering how good the Homelander would be at going down on someone, but he is good. He feasts. He goes from licking your pussy leisurely to devouring you in time with when your body needs it; later, you will wonder if he uses his superior senses to guide the way to your pleasure. Now, you’re too far into heaven to think. He sucks at your clit with a pressure that would make your body convulse if he wasn’t holding you down. There’s no need for him to shift or adjust; he could be here for days. When one of his hands moves to press two fingers slowly into you, stretching you around the rich leather of his gloves, you cry out. There’s no pain, no uncomfortable twitch - just pleasure. “Fuck!”

Homelander chuckles and presses a few quick kisses to your clit. “Watch your mouth. Might have to find a better use for it.”

“Please do,” You reply breathlessly, and your hand locks gently into his hair. It’s softer than you thought, but that only makes you hold on harder.

Surprise flickers in his expression, so brief you nearly miss it, before he grins manically. “With pleasure. But first thing’s first…”

He dives back in with sloppy kisses against your pussy. He curls his fingers just right, fucks them into you mercilessly, and the suddenness of your climax takes you by surprise. It curls down each of your limbs and then bursts in vibrating waves. You are vaguely aware of the animalistic sounds you make, but they’re lost to the dizzying heat. You barely recognize your own voice. When you slowly come back down, your hands both now locked in Homelander’s hair, he’s looking at you with a slacked jaw and a mouth soaked in your juices.

Behind him, you vaguely make out the shape of your husband, and his hard cock slowly pumping in his fist.

“What a show,” Homelander praises, quickly drawing your attention back to him. There’s a low buzz to his voice now, and your squirm at the realization that he’s as excited about this as you - and evidently, your husband - are. He presses feather kisses to your stomach as he speaks. “But next time…you have to ask me before you come.”

As he slowly begins to stand again, you nod your head. “Yes, sir.”

He barks a laugh. “Sir, huh? Aren’t you the sweetest little thing…”

He saunters around the bed, not even blinking as he looks up and down your form. He reminds you of a snake coiling you tighter and tighter in his grasp. His hand drops down to his belt; he undoes them just enough to pull out his swollen cock. The rest of his uniform remains pristine. You’re are so locked on the generous length between his legs that you overlook Homelander removing his gloves and tossing them across the room to your husband. “Hold this for me, would ya?” He calls to him. “You doing okay over there, buddy? Enjoying the show?”

Your husband doesn’t respond, but you hear the rhythm of him fisting his dick.

“Keep it up, champ. Use the glove if it helps,” Homemlander chuckles before returning to you. His hand gently strokes his cock.  “And you are going to put those pretty lips to work now, sweetheart.”

You obediently shuffle up the bed - he coos at your eagerness - so his cock is right beside your mouth. His free hand gently curls into the hair at the back of your head and pulls you towards his crotch. You obey, parting your lips and sucking his dick into your mouth. The hiss he makes thrills you. He slowly rocks his hips but you end up doing most of the work, bobbing along his cock as far as you can take him from this position. Your eyes have fallen shut, so you don’t notice his free hand trailing down your body until his fingers are pinching your clit. You moan loudly around him, and the vibrations make him buck forward. When you gag, he laughs and pulls back a bit. “Whoops,” He says, completely unapologetic as his fingers deftly swirl your clit. “Remember what I said, kitten…don’t come unless I’ve told you you can.”

Much easier said than done. The heady smell of him, the weight of his cock against your tongue is enough to thrill you - not to mention your body is still loose from the last climax he gave you. His fingers are rubbing at what little restraint you have left. He slowly presses a single finger into you, but even that slight friction nearly pushes you over the edge-

His hand is gone in an instant and instead clamps around your throat. Your eyes fly open, and you arch away, but he holds you in place with his cock still down your throat. He tsks in disappointment down at you and gives your throat a little squeeze. “What did I say?”

Homelander pulls out of your mouth, a shit-eating grin on his face at the whine you make. He uses his grip on your hair to manoeuver you slowly; he isn’t rough because he doesn’t need to be. You couldn’t fight his strength in your dreams. He settles you on your hands and knees, facing the bottom of the bed. You don’t realize you’re cold until his warmth envelops you, his chest to your back. He’s still fully dressed - fully in costume. 

“Ignoring what I say and ignoring your poor husband over there…” He murmurs into your ear before pressing lazy kisses against your neck. “Talk to him. Tell him how good you feel.”

You look at your husband. He looks nearly as gone as you. He’s still stroking his cock slowly, his lips gently parted as he stares at you. You moan as Homelander bites down at your neck. “H-he feels…so good.”

“Hm…more specific,” Homelander murmurs as his hands fall to your hips. Without waiting for you to speak, you feel his hard, slick cock slowly pressing against your pussy. He thrusts into you with a slow, patient push that leaves you gasping for breath. He fills you. There is no going back from this. A sharp slap against your ass brings you back to reality. “Hello? Earth to slut?”

Your body unconsciously clenches around him, and you don’t miss the pleased grunt he makes under his breath. “He’s so…big,” You say, your voice unsteady. “I-I…f-fuck…”

“Whoop, she’s cock drunk,” Homelander laughs and gives you a small, teasing thrust. Over your head, he smirks at your husband. “Sorry, pal. We’ll work on that.”

You don’t have the brain power to ponder what he means. Instead, you’re completely wrapped up in the way he starts to fuck you. He’s slow at first, allowing your body to accommodate to the way he stretches you. Then, with that sixth sense he seems to have for your body, he picks up the pace the moment you’ve adjusted. He presses all of himself inside hard and slowly pulls back out, using his hands on your hips to pull you back on his cock. You are powerless under his control, and he loves it. “Look at your husband,” He commands in a hiss as he tugs at your earlobe; he’s getting lost in it, too. “Look at your husband while I fucking claim you.”

You are in a haze as you raise your eyes to meet your husband’s. You can barely see him. “Fuck…fuck me harder, Homelander…please…”

He responds immediately, suddenly moving at an inhuman pace. You feel him curl tighter over you to wrap an arm around your waist and a hand back around your throat. He pulls you up to your knees, your back still to his chest, without faltering in his brutal fucking. Your hands claw at his arm, but you won’t hurt him. You can’t hurt him.

“I can feel you clenching on me. I can smell how desperate your little cunt is,” He whispers into your ear. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Come again. Come on my fucking cock.”

He squeezes your throat and bites hard at your shoulder to leave a mark. That’s all you need. You cry out his name as you come, his tight grip on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing down onto the bed. You’re vaguely aware of the sound of your husband groaning in his own climax, nearly in sync with Homelander coming inside of you. You have no sense of time or reality; nothing makes sense besides how good this feels - and the lengths you would go to feel this good over and over again for the rest of your life.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, but you eventually find yourself gently placed back onto the bed. Homelander’s hands push you onto your back lazily. You blink, clearing your blurry vision, and see that he is gazing down at you with a smile that almost looks fond. Almost.

“Welcome back,” He teases. He leans down and presses a soft kiss against your lips. You’re too exhausted to respond, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls away to stand back up and brushes a hand through your hair. “Now, you stay right there.”

He tucks himself back into his pants before turning to look at your husband. He is still holding his cock, his hand soaked in his seed. Homelander chuckles under his breath at the sight before nodding towards the other room. “The men are gonna discuss a little arrangement.”