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fraugwinska · 4 months ago

Note

I've seen fanfics about Alastor × deaf reader

But what about.. blind reader? Maybe they lost sight in some battle

How they would be confused meeting Alastor at first: did someone turn the radio on- oh, thats a demon talking!

And how confused would be Alastor as his feelings started to grow towards the reader: he just enjoys their company! What else can he do when they like to listen to him spilling the tea and just rambling about everything because of his soothing voice? His favourite listener

Then.. their relationships get a bit different as in another one relaxing evening together Alastor asks if they want to see him..

And on their confused silence he answers bringing their hands to his face for them to "read" his apperience..

Just thought it would be hella fun to read! Not good enough at english, sorry for mistakes

I love your writtings! 💕Stay hydrated and don't dare to overwork yourself ☝

Hiya lovely Anon! <3 I put my own little spin on your idea! I love fics like those, and this one sat in my drafts for ages - I hope the wait was worth it! Thank you so much for this ask! <3 Warning: Contains depictions of attempted SA, please read with caution - MINORS DNI!

The bookstore was always quiet in the evenings. Well, it was quiet almost always.

Hell wasn't the most... appreciative place for tombs and books that didn't have porn or egregious murder in them, so your shop wasn't really frequented much. Occasionally, a new sinner would find their way in, not yet taken by the unpunished excessiveness Pentagram City had to offer, and would buy a book or two, never to be seen again. The rest of your clientele were loyal regulars, mostly elderly demons and imps getting books for their masters in other rings. It wasn't much, but enough for you to get by, live a simple, modest life. Your shop was mundane enough as to not attract the more dangerous ones the city had to offer, yet held the beauty that only an antique bookstore could, with a reading room like atmosphere, mismatched armchairs scattered in between the high bookshelves and an old radio on the counter playing in the background.

That didn't mean there weren't moments you'd have to get yourself out of some serious situations. On rare occasions, the patrons of your bookstore became too demanding or rough with you, thinking they could intimidate or screw you over because of your... handicap. After all, how would you see the hand reaching in the register, or the little spell book slipping into the inside pocket of a jacket. The blindness you were born with on earth hadn't left you in your death, but the enhanced sensitivity of your other senses made things easier for you. You had learned to take your losses, unwilling to let these moments ruin your confidence in your work or diminish your spirits.

You navigated through the little store with ease, putting laid-out books back into their designated places - feeling the backs of the books like it spelled their names, and motion memory guiding you through the maze of furniture and shelves - your plain, long felt skirt softly brushing this edge and that wood panel. What you wore wasn't fancy, modern or stylish attire, but it was comfortable enough. And who were you kidding? At the end of the day, nobody cared for your less-than-ordinary appearance, but yourself.

Your mind had been drifting around between random topics for a while until, on your last trip back to the front desk, your round ears picked up the bell on your door and the faint sound of staticy talking, coming from the direction of the counter. A customer, at this hour no less! But you were sure you had turned off the radio hours ago... maybe the old thing was finally breaking down, you thought with a little sadness. You hurried to it, still hung back in your thoughts and babbling as you turned the desk to shut the little device off so your customer wasn't disturbed.

"Hello, I'm terribly sorry if you're bothered by the radio, I should have turned it off. Feel free to browse through-" you paused mid-sentence as the air shifted slightly. You had turned the familiar knob but the filtered voice didn't stop talking. Your ears moved around, as if the source was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, trying to determine its source, when the other occupant of the store laughed at the surprise written on your face.

"Apologies aren't necessary my dear, but that wasn't the little device here but me, asking for service. Although I'm quite fond of a little old fashioned tune - comes with the title of the Radio Demon, you see." He talked with amusement, or something in his tone seemed powerful and dangerous. As his words started to make sense to you, you held a sharp breath, struggling not to take a step back. Of course you've heard of Alastor, the Radio Demon, but you've never had the honor (or dread) of meeting him in person. Rumors had spread around in hell a long time before you'd even gotten here, stories of a powerful overlord who'd broadcasted the screams and torments of his victims, spreading fear to everyone, from sinner, to lesser demons, to even other overlords themselves.

"W-welcome to my store, sir! What can I help you with today?" You smiled pleasantly, hoping that showing him respect and going out of your way for a courteous interaction could possibly keep you from being torn to pieces. You heard the ruffling of fabric - a hand reaching into a pocket, wrapping it's fingers around a thick piece of paper, along a low, distorted chuckle. "A good friend of mine recommended your store to me, I am looking for a few... unusual books, hopefully to be found here."

You waited into the silence, one second, two, three. When he said nothing, only static noise slowly increasing in volume, you decided to speak again. "May you tell me the titles, sir?"

"If you'd take the list, little mouse, everything I need is on it." His voice had an edge of annoyance to it now. You didn't know when his presence had approached so close to where you stood, and couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not. You sighed, pulling the darkened glasses off you wore day in, day out, revealing the white irises that gave your blindness away. After a sound like a record scratch, you managed a helpless smile. "I fear if it's not in braille, it won't do much to hand me that."

The other demon was silent again, but the crackling static had dropped, and before you had time to add something that wouldn't get you gutted, he'd barked a laugh, sounding genuinely amused and entertained.

"My, isn't that a bit cliché, my dear? A blind mouse? Any chance you have two siblings?"

That joke was new. You dared to husk out a little laugh, too, your hands gently resting on the counter top. "I hate to disappoint, but no. I even have my tail still, no farmers wife with a knife."

There was a change in his stance, his coat sweeping the air as you heard the list was laid on the wooden surface in front of you, surprisingly not crushed or crumbling under the power of his hand. Coldness swept like waves of fog over the front desk and your hands, you pulled them away with a shudder, confused, but your patron just hummed.

"There, that should've done the trick. I'd rather not want to read my little.... requests aloud, they're a rather curious bunch, I believe. Very useful, though, especially those for more creative types in cooking."

You reached for the paper and thumbed through the braille letters one after the other, feeling a long list of more... taboo tomes you were sure wouldn't have even been mentioned in any respectable catalogue. Luckily, you were a glutton for oddities and curiosities, and with a small smile of pride you found that you had every book on the list on hand. Maybe it was this pride thatgave you the confidence so that you didn't reply and instead swiftly jumped ahead, bustling through the rows and pillars of bookshelves. Every step was calculated, from the short staircase to the tiny nook where you stored spell books and tombs of dark magic, navigating past all the tables and furniture to the particular bookcase containing ritualistic cookbooks. Once you had a feeling where a book would be located, you searched the titles by stroking the backs with the pads of your fingers, tapping quickly and analyzing the material and little bumps and nicks of the spines. Once found, you traced the edges of the piece and drew up a mental image in your mind to check it wasn't bent, dirty, torn or had any parts missing. Your fingers were your eyes, and they were keen.

As you carried the rather heavy stack back, the Radio Demon hadn't moved an inch from where you'd left him, as far as you could tell. It had been hard not to acknowledge him throughout the ordeal while your brain just went on autopilot after realizing he didn't mean to kill you, at least for the moment. On one hand, that was comforting; on the other hand, it was absolutely horrifying.

"Here you go, sir. Please, feel free to check if they are up to your standards." You set the books down carefully, counting the number of thick covers in the stack to be sure and your fingers brushed sharp talons as apparently the Radio Demon reached out to inspect the books as you offered. With a sharp inhale and a heated face you quickly drew back, stammering apologies. He only chuckled faintly, the static surrounding him crackling as if it, too, was amused.

You stood silently behind the counter and listened to him flipping through the pages, turning the books around to read their contents, humming here and there. He seemed content with the lot and you were sure that once he'd paid, he would leave, hopefully sparing your meager existence and not leaving any destruction behind.

"Very well! These will do perfectly, little mouse. And, I have to say, you have a very interesting collection. The quality of your inventory exceeds what Zestial promised. You might expect a few more visits from me in the future, if you don't mind."

The last sentence wasn't a question. It was a statement, underlined with the sound of a heavy stack of bills placed on your counter. Your hands confirmed what your ears already suspected - your patron well overpaid you.

"Not at all, sir, but you gave me too much mon...."

But the air shifted again, and a chime and a thud later you knew he had already walked out, his laughter the last thing you heard before the door clicked shut.

“...ey.”

What a peculiar man, you thought, still processing the entire experience. His voice had been darling, no wonder he chose radio as his medium. You were sure his smile you've heard so many demons whisper about was wide and predatory, but he had been so polite. Even the nickname he'd given you had been charming, compared to the names and remarks you've had thrown at you by lesser demons, and you shook your head at the ridiculousness of your face flushing at the memory.

'Little mouse.'

After a long moment, you finally counted the money and put the amount he tipped you aside in your hidden safe, making a note to yourself that you would give it back to him when he'd return. If he'd return.

Weeks passed and the Radio Demon had kept his promise and visited again. And again. And again.

The first time he came back and you, already flustered, offered to give back the surplus money he'd paid you, he was baffled before he heartily laughed and ignored your attempts to return it to him, instead buying three more books and leaving you with even more undeserved cash in your hands.

Almost once a week he'd return to your store, sometimes he'd have a whole list of books he'd want to buy, and he almost never left your store with empty hands. Sometimes he'd sit down in one of the many chairs to peruse a tomb you set aside for him, predicting he'd find interest in it as you learned his tastes in literature, and he'd hum almost happily when you found a new curiosity or a grimoire that was especially hard to come by. And sometimes he just came in for a quick visit, not even intending to buy a book but just to chat a bit. With every encounter your initial apprehension shifted into appreciation, so much so that you'd grow to eagerly await his return, the sound the bell made when he enthusiastically swung the door open or the slight distortion of your radio when he changed the station to one that suited his mood better.

You were a bit enchanted with him, if you were honest. Not only had every interaction been intriguing and entertaining, he'd been one of the rare visitors who hadn't maliciously mocked or threatened you, or worse. And you found that you enjoyed the small banters you could have with him, the fact that he treated you no differently than anyone else. It was refreshing, and each of his visits put a spring in your step for days, no matter how hard you tried not to think about him.

By the time several months had passed, he became your favorite client and he seemed to have an everlasting interest in your inventory as well as yourself. You learned that he was quite a wealthy demon with a seemingly insatiable appetite for entertainment, and always with an eye for quality, which you vowed yourself to provide in return, if only to keep him coming back. You found you could spend hours with only him at the store over freshly made coffee, discussing various literary concepts and historical events he used as references, and it was a delight to laugh together about some particularly odd rituals in books like 'Old Spells to Cure Thievery' or 'Blood Rituals of the Flaying Kink'.

Sometimes, when you'd hand him a new find or a heavy tomb, his hands would lightly brush yours and his voice would drop and become a bit softer, quieter as he cooed his nickname for you - 'Little Mouse'. With your lack of vision, you didn't know how his face looked nor how his expression would've surely changed - but his voice took on a tone that would be fitting for a date, and the touches made you shiver lightly and tingle and you felt heat spread all over your chest and the pit of your stomach when he did. If your body betrayed those reactions on your face, he wouldn't tease you for them. At least, you never noticed if he did. Maybe he had the grace to simply not remark on them, you thought, for once grateful for your blindness so you wouldn't have to see your own - surely ridiculously dumbstruck - expression reflected in the windows of your storefront. But the physical contact between you became more frequent, more deliberately made, and you'd caught his own quiet sigh every now and again when he lingered for just a moment longer before the doorbell chimed and he'd leave again.

One evening, as you were cleaning up and preparing for tomorrow's customers, a soft knock on the already locked door pulled you out of the haze of your radio's gentle tune. Turning around, you moved slowly towards the sound of the interruption, adjusting your dark glasses.

"My apologies, but we're closed for tonight, please come back tomorrow."

There was no reply, no sound of footsteps and your ears strained to catch a whisper of a sound, to find a new hint as to who was outside. Another knock, harder now, sounded and this time it took all your courage to approach. Your hair stood at its roots as your hands rested at the wooden door, your senses tingling that you better not open - that danger stood in front of your store.

"Please go, we'll be open again tomorrow."

Your reflexes, acting faster than your brain, made you stumble back as the glass of your front doors shattered into a million pieces. In a panic you tumbled to the floor, hands over your face as the pieces broke apart on impact. There were voices, rough and foreign sounding, that accompanied the stomping of boots. You shuffled back on the ground, trying to get out of the way before being stepped or kicked upon, reaching to the walls and bookshelves to find some stability to guide you in getting away from what was coming towards you.

"T-take what you want, please, I won't stop you. Just... just take it and leave."

Your words were shaking in fear and the little hope that a verbal warning and submission would placate the robbers. To your horror the voices - two, if your panicked mind didn't fool you - erupted into raspy laughter and you realized then that money might not be the only thing these demons were after.

"You were right, Hank. This is going to be easier than I thought, look at how helpless the bitch is."

"Told 'ya, Tommy Boy. An' the best part..." supposedly the one called Hank said deviously, and you were yanked up at your wrists and thrown over what must've been your counter, your glasses slipping and breaking at the impact and your eyes dwelling with hot tears. You recognized this voice… just a few days ago this demon had come into the shop, just as Alastor was about to leave, lingering around the shop and leaving quickly mumbling a half-asses excuse without buying anything after you asked if you could help him find something and Alastor's static crackled dangerously. The same smell of sharp sweat and wet tobacco lingered around him, making your stomach turn. "... she can't tell anyone who we are. Hoh, look, her eyes are some freaky shit, 'n you bet her tits 're freaky, too. S'not even our damn birthday but looks like we got ourselves a gift. 'Ya wanna go first?"

"You know me - Don't mind if I do."

With a heart beating out of your chest and shallow breaths, you tried to feel with your only free hand for something, anything, to defend yourself with. You had to defend yourself. Anything would be better than what horrific thing they were about to do. There was only the flat, leather bound accounting book close by, but it was better than nothing, and in a motion of impulse and fear you slashed with it into the general direction you felt the weight of Tommy settle onto the counter top above you. His complice bellowed angrily, making your ears ring, and Tommy snatched the weapon from your hand to throw it away. His breath smelled of filth and cold ash, the skin of your throat burned when he wrapped his calloused hands around it.

"We're gonna show ya your fucking place, worthless blind cum-chunk bitch, an' when we're done with ya..."

There was a sudden, instant sound of feedback, a wet splatter and a horrified scream and hasty, fleeing footsteps before a wave of relief washed over you as your neck fell free from the intruders grasp and you heard a familiar voice.

"Oh, my dear fellow, do go on. I'd love to hear the end of that sentence." A low, distorted chuckle followed. Alastor sounded different - menacing. Bone-chilling. If those words would've been directed at you, you would've been mortified. But it sounded like honey in your ears, knowing who the recipient was. "Ah, how silly of me - surely it's much harder to speak without vocal chords."

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as the sounds of violence became ever more gruesome. A whipping sound, a wail and a choked gasp and two stomach-churning thuds of something hitting the floor.

"Well that's not handy at all - you can't even sign your pathetic pleas now. How unfortunate to be in such a vulnerable position, isn't it?"

A thud, then another - your stomach turned as the room got flooded with a different type of warmth. Your lungs and chest stung from the stench of iron and decay and your throat hurt as you realized one aura had vanished from the store and Tommy was most likely reduced to a fleshy pile on the ground. Suddenly you felt a sharp but warm, strangely long but familar hand cradling the back of your skull, pressing your cheek against a broad, angled shoulder, another wrapped tightly around your shoulders, resting under your ears. It was quiet, now - you could only hear your staggered breathing and Alastors static that had gone down a notch or two. You thought his breathing had become more labored, too, when he slowly, gently, let go and straightened you to bring you to a standing position, his hands shifting into their usual shape as they came to rest lightly on your upper arms.

"Are you alright, dear?" His voice was almost back to the tone you were so fond of - almost. There still was an undertone, a dangerous sharpness. Your fingertips instinctively grasped and searched until they met with the familiar texture of his clothing and you nodded.

"Y-yes... I think so, yes. What - what happened to the other one?"

There was a deep laugh, one you haven't heard yet from him. "Oh, my dear, no need to fret over that. I'll deal with that pest later. I should've dealt with him the moment he stepped into your store. An oversight I intend to shortly redeem."

It should have frightened you - should've made the situation so, so much worse, hearing that Alastor planned more torture for that vile creature, probably even an equally gruesome death like the one his friend got. But his words only calmed you. Made you feel... safer. Your fingers lingered on his suit longer than you expected, tracing the detailed seams of his lapels, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on the fabric, feeling the details of the cool, metallic buttons. And he let you. He stood still, allowing your hands to see what your eyes couldn't.

"I can't decide if it's a blessing or a shame that you can't see the carnage I caused. Although I am pleased that you didn't have to look at the ugly faces of those cretins who tried to defile you." He took your hands from his coat and placed them softly on his face. "But maybe… you can try to envision what your savior looks like, hm?"

His hands left yours again, though you found the sensation and feeling of his touch remained where he placed them. Your heart fluttered as you couldn't keep yourself from running your palms and fingertips over his skin, cautiously tracing his angular jaw, making out the distinct feeling and sharp lines of a toothy grin. Then you pushed further, fingers running along a slight bow and over the indent where his brows arched, his cheekbones prominent enough you felt the warmth of blood flushing under the skin as the mental image of his face got clearer.

You were in awe that you could do this, that he encouraged it even, but he allowed you the tender moment, making a muffled humming sound and exhaling quietly under your soft, curious touch. You realized at last that his eyes were closed for you, the skin there slightly pliant and firm at the same time. With the tips of your fingers, you followed the firm, straight bridge of his nose down the length of it and he inhaled sharply when you brushed his lips. The familiar sound of static increased just enough for you to realize there had been complete silence aside from your soft and his steady breathing. He opened his eyes again, slowly taking your hands away to leave a feathery light, lingering kiss on your knuckles as he hummed thoughtfully.

"Now, let me clean up this mess, we don't want you stumble over any... unpleasant bits." You heard a snap and felt the air whirring around you, filling with a thick, fog-like sensation as you heard your floors creaking, wood mending and cracking and tiny bits of glass swirling around you, piecing itself together and returning into their frame. Not even a minute later the shop felt normal again, the unpleasant smell gone as well, and with it the overall apprehension the threat had caused.

"Thank you, Alastor. Truly, I don't know what would've happened if you weren't..." you started, pausing as his hands wandered gently around your face to put on your miraculously repaired glasses. He laughed softly, tapping a gentle, slender finger on the tip of your nose.

"Luckily we didn't find out, did we? Ah, but, unfortunately, I'd say the night has been spoiled for us, given that there's another vermin to take care of." He walked behind you, carefully setting the accounting book you had used as an attempted weapon into your hands, his taloned fingers curling gently around yours as if to make sure you had a proper hold on it.

"You lock up when I'm gone, little mouse. And who knows - Maybe we'll continue to see each other... tomorrow night."

And then you felt another gentle peck, this time on your flushed cheek, and the door opened with the bell ringing, the faint crackle of a radio fading and his heavy, signature scent of burned wood and bourbon lingering around you as you hurried to bolt the doors shut, heart racing painfully in your chest at the prospect of adding even more parts of the Radio Demon to the image in your mind.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #zestial morde #alastor fluff #blood and gore #TW: depictions of attempted SA

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satansdarlin · 12 days ago

Text

Blue stained glass

While I work on the fourth chapter of a full deck of cards I also decided to write for another one of my boys! Welcoming Kurt Wagner to the stage! Apologies for any bad German, I'm still learning it and often forget that it is a gendered language so please forgive me.

MDNI

Rating: E

Word count: 8.3k

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x shy!artist!fem!reader

Warnings: reader being kinda stalkerish but not with bad intentions, implied that some of the students have harmless crushes on Kurt, Kurt being a flirt, smut! Because I missed writing it, Oral (fem receiving), PiV, mentions of Kurt's faith, you wife that man up!, pregnancy. Not beta read!

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

Golden light trickled in through the curtains as the sun set behind the school. The smell of dragon's blood incense wafted around the room in delicate wisps of smoke. The only sounds were the slight breeze outside and the dragging of bristles across canvas. You sat on the wooden stool, a slight hunch in your back you'd need to correct later with stretches. Your gaze followed along as you drew blue across the canvas. Blue had become a vital part of all your recent works, and you knew exactly why. Whenever you thought of art, flashes of blue fur, a spaded tail, the smell of sulfur, a silver cross, and a mischievous laugh filled your mind. You wouldn't call it obsession or infatuation. He was your muse. Not that he knew. How could you tell your teammate that he gave you such powerful inspiration? So the portfolio filled to the brim with artworks of just him remained hidden away under your bed.

Kurt Wagner. Everyone loved him. He was a friend worth keeping, made everything fun, always had the best ideas to keep the students entertained, and loved to chatter. Even Logan enjoyed his company from time to time. Kurt just had a way with people, with mutants. A few months back, you had a solo mission with him. It was awkward at first—the shy, quiet artist of the school and the impish chatterbox didn't know how to approach one another. In the end, the mission had concluded in giggles and soft-spoken words. Kurt was wonderful. That's why you couldn't understand why he kept insisting on spending time with you of all people. You were reserved, shy, introverted—the exact opposite of Kurt.

You had put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on your door before starting, hoping it would deter visitors. It did. Well, anyone who saw the sign didn't bother you; the same could not be said for the blue fuzzy imp. He didn't see it, to be fair. He had just gotten home from taking some students to the mall for shopping and wanted to show you the paints he had found, so he teleported. The smell of sulfur and the familiar BAMF sound filled your room, making your eyes widen comedically as you stared at the canvas. A painting of Kurt praying in a church with blue stained glass—one he was most certainly not supposed to see.

"Mein Freund, you would not believe the gift I have found for you— ah," his pleasant accent-tinted voice stalled as he gazed at your shape and then the painting before you. His eyes widened and filled with glee. "Oh mein Gott! Is that me? It's... it's—" he struggled to find the English word for a moment before settling on, "herrlich."

You stammered shyly as he walked up behind you, gazing at the painting with a smile that made your insides flutter like a thousand baby butterflies had hatched. "I... erm... yes, it's you, but it's not finished," you spoke hesitantly.

"Not finished?" Kurt moved closer, his tail swaying gently behind him in that way it did when he was truly excited about something. "But it's already so beautiful! The way you captured the light through the windows..." He leaned in, careful not to disturb your workspace, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. "I had no idea you were watching me pray."

Your cheeks burned hot. "I... I wasn't. Not really. I just... sometimes I sketch you when you're around the mansion, and I remembered how peaceful you looked that one time I passed by the chapel..." You trailed off, realizing you might be revealing too much.

Kurt's expression softened, and a knowing look crossed his features. "Then perhaps..." he said, reaching down to carefully take the brush from your trembling fingers, "you wouldn't mind showing me the other drawings?" His golden eyes flickered toward your bed, where your portfolio lay hidden.

Your heart nearly stopped. "You knew?"

A gentle laugh escaped him, musical and warm. "Mein Schatz, I may be a fool sometimes, but I'm not blind. I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching." He paused, his tail curling slightly in what you had learned was nervousness. "The same way I look at you when you're lost in your art."

The confession hung in the air between you, as tangible as the wisps of incense smoke still dancing through the golden evening light. You sat frozen, brush dripping blue paint onto the dropcloth below, as Kurt Wagner—your muse, your teammate, your secret inspiration—waited for your response with bated breath.

"You... look at me?" You whispered in shock and a tinge of disbelief. He looked at you like you looked at him? That sounded impossible, yet the way his tail curled in nervousness and his foot tapped against the ground told a different story.

Kurt's hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a gesture you'd seen countless times when he was trying to find the right words. "Ja, I do. More than I probably should." His voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. "When you're in the garden sketching, or during the art class with the students when you create those beautiful displays... The way your face lights up when you finally perfect a piece you've been working on..." He trailed off, a deeper blue tinting his cheeks.

Your heart thundered in your chest as he took a small step closer, his tail now swaying in a gentle, hypnotic pattern. "I've wanted to tell you for so long, but..." He gestured to himself with a self-deprecating smile. "Well, I wasn't sure someone who creates such beauty would want..."

"Kurt," you interrupted, finding courage you didn't know you had. Standing from your stool, you reached for his hand, feeling the unique texture of his fur against your palm. "You are beauty. Why do you think I can't stop painting you?"

His golden eyes widened, and that brilliant smile you'd captured in countless sketches spread across his face. "Then perhaps," he said, bringing your joined hands up between you, "we've both been a bit foolish, ja?"

A small laugh escaped you, breaking the tension. "More than a bit." Your eyes drifted to the painting on the easel, then back to him. "Would you... would you like to see the others? The real ones, not just the ones I do for art class?"

Kurt's tail perked up, and he squeezed your hand gently. "I would love nothing more, mein Schatz. But first..." He reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and pulled out a small paper bag. "I really did bring you something from the art store."

Inside was a set of iridescent blue paints that shifted colors in the dying sunlight, almost the exact shade of Kurt's fur when he moved. Your breath caught at the thoughtfulness of the gift, and when you looked up at him, his expression was so tender it made your heart ache.

"I saw them and thought of you," he admitted quietly. "Though I suppose I'm always thinking of you these days."

The confession hung in the air like a prayer, and you found yourself moving closer, drawn into his orbit like you'd always been, only now there was no need to hide it. The golden light that had started this evening's painting session now painted Kurt in warm hues, making him look almost ethereal—your own personal angel, right here in your art-cluttered room.

"Kurt," you whispered, not quite sure what you wanted to say, but knowing you needed to say something. The way he looked at you now, like you were one of his precious religious paintings come to life, made you understand why he'd always insisted on spending time with you. He'd been drawn to you just as you'd been to him, both of you dancing around each other in an elaborate routine of stolen glances and hidden feelings.

His tail curled gently around your wrist, as if he couldn't bear to not touch you in some way, and you realized that maybe this was what inspiration truly felt like—not just the desire to capture beauty, but to be part of it. With trembling hands, you knelt beside your bed, aware of Kurt's presence behind you as you reached underneath to pull out the large black portfolio case. Your heart hammered against your ribs—no one had ever seen these pieces before. They were raw, honest, intimate in a way your public artwork never was.

"I, um," you started, clutching the portfolio to your chest as you stood, "some of these are just quick sketches, and others aren't very good—"

"Liebling," Kurt interrupted gently, his tail swaying with barely contained excitement, "everything you create is wunderbar. May I?" He gestured to your bed, and you nodded, watching as he settled cross-legged on the corner, patting the space beside him.

You sat down carefully, the portfolio balanced on your lap. Kurt's warmth beside you was both comforting and nerve-wracking. Taking a deep breath, you unzipped the case and pulled out the first few pieces.

"Oh!" Kurt's delighted gasp made you jump slightly. His tail curled in pleasure as he leaned forward to study a charcoal drawing of himself perched on the mansion's balcony railing, looking out over the grounds. "I remember this day. It was right after that terrible thunderstorm, ja? When the sun finally came out?"

You nodded, surprised he'd remembered such a small moment. "The light was hitting your fur just right, and I couldn't help but..." you trailed off, embarrassed at admitting how much you'd observed him.

But Kurt was already reaching for the next piece, his golden eyes bright with wonder. "And this one!" It was a series of quick gesture sketches of him during a training session, his body in various poses of acrobatic grace. "You've captured the movement so perfectly. I had no idea you were watching so closely."

Your cheeks burned. "I hope that doesn't sound creepy."

His laugh was warm and genuine. "Nein, not at all. Though it does explain why you always volunteered to help supervise training." His tail brushed against your back playfully, making you squeak in surprise.

As you went through more pieces, your initial nervousness began to fade, replaced by a warm glow at Kurt's genuine enthusiasm for each drawing. He had a comment for every piece—remembering the moments you'd captured, praising your technique, asking questions about your process. His tail never stopped moving, expressing his excitement in a way his controlled expressions couldn't quite hide.

"This one," he breathed, carefully lifting a watercolor painting, "this is..." It was one of your favorites—Kurt in the library late at night, reading by lamplight, his tail curled around a cup of tea. You'd painted it from memory after watching him there one evening, trying to capture the peaceful contentment he radiated in those quiet moments.

"The way you see me," he said softly, tracing the air above the painting as if afraid to touch it, "it's so..."

"Real," you finished quietly. "That's just... how you look to me."

Kurt turned to face you then, and the expression on his face made your breath catch. "All this time," he murmured, "I thought I was alone in feeling this way. In seeing such beauty in someone else."

You ducked your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, but his tail gently curved under your chin, lifting it back up. "No hiding," he said softly. "Not anymore, ja?"

The portfolio slid forgotten to the floor as Kurt's hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he still couldn't quite believe he was allowed this. In the fading golden light of your room, surrounded by scattered artwork that told the story of your hidden feelings, Kurt Wagner looked at you like you were the masterpiece—not the artist. Time seemed to slow as Kurt's hand remained gentle against your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. Your heart was doing acrobatics that could rival his best performances, and you wondered if he could feel how warm your face had become.

"Mein Schatz," he whispered, leaning closer, "may I...?"

You could only manage a tiny nod, and then his lips were on yours, soft and sweet. The kiss was gentle, almost reverent, and you could feel his smile against your mouth. His tail curled around your waist, drawing you closer as your hands tentatively came up to rest against his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt and the steady beating of his heart beneath.

When you finally parted, you immediately buried your burning face in his shoulder, earning a warm chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "Hiding again so soon?" he teased, his accent thicker with emotion.

"Mmph," was all you could manage, which only made him laugh more.

"And here I thought artists were supposed to appreciate beautiful moments," he continued playfully, his tail squeezing your waist. "Perhaps I should pose for another painting? 'The First Kiss' would make a lovely addition to your collection, ja?"

You groaned and swatted his chest weakly. "Kurt!"

"Or maybe a series?" He was clearly enjoying himself now, his voice full of mischief. "We could call it 'The Evolution of Romance' or 'Love in Blue'—"

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face still flaming. "You're terrible."

His grin was radiant. "Terrible, but yours?" The hope in his voice made your heart flutter.

"Yeah," you whispered, managing a shy smile. "Mine."

"Wunderbar!" He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. "Though I must ask—do you have any paintings of our future together hidden away as well? Should I be prepared for more surprises?"

"Kurt Wagner!" You tried to sound scandalized, but you couldn't help laughing, especially when he waggled his eyebrows at you.

"What? It's a reasonable question! After all, you've been secretly documenting me for months. For all I know, you've already planned our wedding colors—blue and more blue, I assume?"

You grabbed a nearby pillow and tried to smack him with it, but he teleported across the room with a BAMF, leaving a cloud of sulfur and the echo of his laughter. He reappeared perched on your easel, careful not to disturb your painting, his tail swishing playfully.

"You know," he said, his golden eyes twinkling, "I think I prefer being your muse when I know about it. The poses can be much more interesting this way."

"Oh my god," you mumbled, falling back onto your bed and covering your face with your hands. But you couldn't hide your smile, especially when you felt the familiar displacement of air and suddenly had a warm, fuzzy mutant curled around you, pressing gentle kisses to your temple.

"Don't worry, Liebling," he murmured against your skin, his tail finding your hand and twining with your fingers. "I promise to be the best muse you could ask for. Though..." He paused dramatically, "I do have one condition."

You peeked through your fingers at him. "What's that?"

His smile softened into something so tender it made your chest ache. "That next time you paint me praying in the chapel, you'll be there with me. Some masterpieces are better created together, don't you think?"

This time, when you pulled him down for another kiss, you didn't hide your face afterward. After all, how could you when he was looking at you like that—like you were both the artist and the masterpiece, the muse and the creator, the beginning and end of something beautiful?

Though you did blush furiously when he later insisted on signing all your portraits of him with "Kurt Wagner, Professional Muse and Master of Stealing Artists' Hearts.”

The chatter of students filled the air and the sweet smell of honeysuckle surrounded you and your students. Truth be told, you hadn't even offered to do this job; teaching the art class wasn't something that had ever been on your mind, but Charles had asked you to do so, saying it would be good for the students to have an outlet for their emotions. Though teaching a bunch of mutant teenagers wasn't particularly easy, especially when half of them wanted to be in the danger room training to be X-Men—you probably got more questions about that than actual art.

"Your piece should be about expression. There is no right or wrong, only your feelings about your art," you spoke gently as you walked by the students settled in the grass of the gardens behind the school. A hand rose up and you looked over and nodded at the boy, Damian you believed his name was.

"Excuse me, but how exactly is painting helping us prepare for anything?" You sighed at the boy's question as he got some chastising nudges from some of your more kind students. You got that question about every class.

Before you could answer, a familiar BAMF sound and the scent of sulfur announced Kurt's arrival. He appeared perched on the garden wall, his tail swaying as he grinned at the class. Several students brightened immediately—Kurt had always been a favorite among them.

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, mein junger Freund," Kurt said, gracefully flipping down to land beside you. His shoulder brushed yours in a subtle show of support that made your heart flutter, even after months of being together. "Art teaches us more than you might think. Strategy, patience, observation..." He winked at you before continuing, "How do you think I learned to move so efficiently in battle? By understanding space, movement, and perception—all things your talented teacher here helped me improve."

A few students giggled, well aware of your relationship with the blue mutant. It had become something of a school legend how you'd been caught with a portfolio full of Kurt drawings. Some of the older students even insisted they'd known all along, claiming they'd seen the way you both looked at each other during training sessions.

"Besides," Kurt continued, picking up one of the spare brushes from your supply kit and twirling it like one of his swords, "did you know that Leonardo da Vinci used his artistic skills to design defense systems? Or that camouflage patterns were created by artists? Even the maps we use for missions were drawn by artists."

Damian sat up straighter, suddenly looking more interested. "Really?"

You smiled, grateful for Kurt's intervention. "Really. And speaking of missions..." You shared a knowing look with Kurt before addressing the class. "Who wants to hear about the time my sketching skills helped us locate a hidden Sentinel facility?"

"Oh, tell them about the warehouse in Berlin!" Kurt added enthusiastically, his tail curling around your waist as he settled beside you. "When you noticed the architectural inconsistencies in my reconnaissance sketches?"

The students were all paying attention now, art supplies temporarily forgotten as they leaned in to hear the story. Even Damian had put down his phone, his previous skepticism replaced with curiosity.

"Well," you began, feeling Kurt's tail squeeze encouragingly, "it started when we noticed some unusual energy signatures in an old industrial district..."

As you recounted the mission, Kurt occasionally chimed in with his own colorful commentary, making the students laugh with his dramatic reenactments. You couldn't help but smile, watching him demonstrate his acrobatic moves while describing how your artistic knowledge had helped spot the hidden entrance.

"And that," Kurt concluded, landing gracefully beside you again, "is why we should never underestimate the power of art. Or artists." He pressed a quick kiss to your temple, making several students coo and others playfully groan at the display of affection.

"Mr. Wagner," one of the girls called out, a mischievous glint in her eye, "are you going to model for our class like you do for the teacher?"

Your face immediately heated up as Kurt laughed delightedly. "Sadly, I'm needed in the danger room. Though..." He grinned at you, that familiar impish look in his golden eyes, "I do have a private session scheduled later."

"Kurt!" you hissed, mortified as the students erupted in giggles.

He merely winked, pressed another quick kiss to your cheek, and teleported away with a theatrical bow, leaving you to face your amused students with burning cheeks.

"Now then," you said, trying to regain some semblance of professional dignity despite your flushed face, "back to your projects. And no, Jenny, you cannot paint Mr. Wagner for your assignment—pick a different subject."

The disappointment on several faces told you that more than one student had been planning exactly that. You couldn't really blame them though. After all, you had an entire portfolio that proved just how inspiring a subject Kurt Wagner could be. After the lingering giggles from Kurt's dramatic exit finally subsided, you circled back through your students, the grass crunching softly beneath your feet. The afternoon sun warmed your shoulders as you paused to observe their work, offering gentle guidance where needed.

"Sarah," you said, stopping beside a girl whose hands were literally glowing as she painted, her mutation allowing her to create luminescent colors, "that's beautiful. The way you're using your powers to add depth to the sunset—very creative." Her beaming smile made your heart warm; it was moments like these that reminded you why Charles had been right about teaching.

Moving on, you found Marcus struggling with his brushstrokes, his extra set of arms getting in the way of each other. "Try coordinating them like we practiced," you suggested softly. "Remember, each hand can work on a different section. Think of it like... like when Kurt coordinates his tail with his movements during training."

The mention of Kurt made a few nearby students glance up with knowing smirks, but you ignored them, focusing on how Marcus's face lit up with understanding. Within minutes, all four of his hands were working in harmony, creating an intricate pattern that would have taken others four times as long to complete.

"Teacher?" A quiet voice drew your attention to Amy, a shy freshman whose scales tended to change color with her emotions—currently a nervous purple. "I... I don't know if this is good enough." She gestured to her canvas where she'd painted a self-portrait, her scales rendered in beautiful iridescent shades.

You knelt beside her, careful not to disturb her workspace. "What makes you think it's not good enough?"

"It's just..." she glanced around at her classmates' work, her scales shifting to a deeper purple. "Everyone else is painting normal things. Beautiful things. I painted... me."

"Amy," you said gently, thinking of all the times you'd doubted your own artwork, of all the paintings of Kurt you'd hidden away because you thought they were too revealing, too personal. "Do you remember what Kurt said in his last ethics class about beauty?"

Her scales flickered with hints of pink—she had a bit of a crush on Kurt, like half the school. "That it comes in all forms?"

"Exactly. And look—" you pointed to how the light caught her painting's scales, creating rainbow patterns across the canvas. "You've captured something uniquely beautiful. Something only you could create, because only you know exactly how those scales feel, how they shift and change. That's not just good art, that's powerful art."

The purple of her scales gradually shifted to a warm golden hue as she smiled, looking at her painting with new eyes. Around you, other students had paused to listen, and you saw several of them return to their work with renewed purpose.

"Damian," you called out, noticing he'd actually started painting instead of just complaining, "excellent use of perspective on that building. Been practicing your architectural sketches?"

He tried to look nonchalant, but you caught his pleased grin. "Yeah, well... after what you said about the Berlin mission... I figured it might be useful. You know, for future X-Men stuff."

"Hey, teacher?" Jenny piped up, paint smudged adorably across her cheek. "Since we can't paint Mr. Wagner, could you tell us more about how art helped on missions while we work? Please?"

A chorus of agreements rose from the class, and you couldn't help but smile. "Alright, but keep painting. There was this one time in Moscow when my knowledge of color theory helped us identify a shapeshifter..."

As you shared the story, moving between easels and offering guidance, you noticed how the students' work seemed to come alive. Even the most reluctant artists were engaged now, their creativity flowing as they listened to tales of how art and heroism could intertwine.

The smell of honeysuckle grew stronger as the afternoon wore on, mixing with paint and teenage enthusiasm. A flash of blue in your peripheral vision caught your attention—Kurt, watching proudly from a nearby window between his training sessions. He blew you a kiss before disappearing again, leaving you with paint-stained fingers and a garden full of budding artists who were finally beginning to understand that there was more than one way to be extraordinary.

"Teacher?" Amy called out, her scales now a confident shade of blue that reminded you of someone special. "I think I'd like to do another self-portrait. Maybe... maybe one of me in an X-Men uniform this time?"

You smiled, thinking of your own portfolio of Kurt, of how art had led you to love, and how that love had led you here, helping these young mutants find their own way to express their unique beauty. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Amy. Just remember—"

"We know, we know," the class chorused together, matching your grin, "there is no right or wrong, only our feelings about our art!”

Evening had settled over the mansion, the last rays of sunlight painting your studio in familiar golden hues. The day's classes were done, art supplies cleaned and stored away, and you'd finally managed to stop blushing from Kurt's teasing comments during your lesson. You were just setting up your easel when the familiar BAMF announced his arrival.

"Ah, mein Schatz," Kurt's voice was warm as he appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tail curling affectionately around your ankle. "Ready for our 'private session'?" You could hear the playful smirk in his voice.

"You," you turned in his arms to poke his chest accusingly, "are terrible. Do you know how many knowing looks I got from the students after you left?"

He laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I couldn't help myself. You're adorable when you blush. Speaking of which..." His tail reached over to your desk, picking up your sketchbook and flipping it open to reveal today's quick sketches of him during his brief visit to your class. "Someone was inspired during their teaching duties, ja?"

"Kurt!" You tried to snatch the sketchbook, but he teleported across the room, perching on the window seat as he continued flipping through pages.

"Oh, this one is new!" He held up a sketch of himself demonstrating acrobatic moves to your students. "You captured my best side."

"All your sides are your best side," you mumbled before you could stop yourself, then immediately covered your face with your hands as he teleported back to you, gathering you close.

"Is that so?" he murmured against your ear. "Then perhaps we should make sure you have proper reference material for all of them?" His tail gently pulled your hands away from your face, forcing you to meet his tender gaze. "Now then, how would you like me to pose, Liebling?"

You gestured weakly to the arrangement you'd set up—a comfortable chair positioned near the window, where the last of the sunset would cast those perfect shadows you loved to capture. "Just... sitting would be nice. Natural. Like when you're reading in the library."

Kurt's expression softened as he settled into the chair, understanding your desire to capture one of your favorite quiet moments. He pulled out a small book of poetry—Rilke, you noticed—and arranged himself comfortably, his tail draped over the armrest.

"Like this?" he asked, and you nodded, already reaching for your charcoal. This was familiar territory now, though no less special than those first secret sketches. If anything, it was more intimate—knowing he was here specifically for you, watching you create, sharing these peaceful moments together.

As you began to sketch, Kurt started reading aloud softly in German, his accent wrapping around the words like silk. You'd grown to love these evenings, the gentle cadence of his voice mixing with the scratch of charcoal on paper, the way his tail would occasionally twitch in response to a particular phrase or stanza.

"You know," he said during a pause between poems, his golden eyes meeting yours over the top of his book, "I used to wonder why you chose me as your subject so often. Now I think I understand."

You paused in your sketching, curious. "Oh?"

"Ja. It's the same reason I can't stop watching you when you create." He marked his place in the book and leaned forward slightly. "There's something magical about seeing someone doing what they love, being exactly who they are meant to be. You see me that way when I move, when I pray, when I simply exist. And I see you that way when you're lost in your art."

The charcoal trembled slightly in your fingers as he continued, "It's like seeing someone's soul, isn't it? Their truest self?"

You nodded, unable to find words for how perfectly he'd captured it. Kurt rose from the chair in one fluid movement, crossing to where you stood. His hand covered yours on the charcoal, bringing it to rest against the easel.

"Perhaps," he whispered, turning you to face him, his tail wrapping around your waist, "we could find other ways to capture this moment?"

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted of poetry and promises. The charcoal slipped forgotten from your fingers as you wound your arms around his neck, letting yourself get lost in the overwhelming rightness of being held by him.

When you finally parted, Kurt rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Though I do hope you'll finish the sketch later. I have a reputation as Professional Muse to maintain, after all."

You laughed, the sound mixing with his own quiet chuckle in the golden evening light of your studio, where art and love had become beautifully, perfectly intertwined.

"So how do you wish to capture this moment, hm?" You hummed up at him with a new sense of courage.

Kurt's yellow eyes sparkle with mischief and desire as he gazes down at you, his tail gently squeezing your waist. The sunset light casts a warm glow on your skin, highlighting the delicate curve of your neck and the soft fullness of your lips. He leans in, his breath ghosting over your skin as he speaks.

"There are so many ways, mein Schatz..." he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "We could start with a kiss..."

And he does, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. His lips are surprisingly soft against yours, moving with a passion and tenderness that sets your heart racing. One hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, while the other slides down your back, pressing you closer to him.

When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed and your eyes dark with desire. Kurt's tail tightens around you, keeping you anchored against him as he trails his lips along your jaw, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

"Or perhaps," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine, "you'd like to capture the way my hands feel on your skin?"

Without waiting for an answer, he begins to unbutton your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he reveals more and more of your body to his hungry gaze. Each touch sends sparks of electricity through you, igniting a fire that only seems to grow with each passing second.

As your shirt falls to the floor, Kurt takes a step back, his eyes roving hungrily over your newly exposed skin. His gaze is almost reverent, as if he's drinking in every inch of you like a man dying of thirst.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his voice filled with awe and desire. "You're absolutely perfect, Meine Liebe."

His hands come up to cup your breasts, thick fingers brushing over your hardening nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he begins to circle and tease, building the pleasure slowly but surely. Kurt's hands continue their sensual exploration of your body, tracing every curve and dip with a reverence that makes your skin tingle. He leans down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin.

"I want to worship every inch of you," he murmurs against your throat, his voice rough with desire. "To show you how much you mean to me."

His fingers find the clasp of your bra, deftly unhooking it and sliding the straps down your shoulders. The garment falls away, baring your breasts to his eager gaze. Kurt pauses for a moment, simply drinking in the sight of you, before cupping the weight of your breasts in his palms.

"Perfektion," he breathes, thumbing your nipples until they pebble beneath his touch. He lowers his head, taking one nipple into his mouth and suckling gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

You gasp at the sensation, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, holding him close. Kurt continues his ministrations, alternating between your breasts, licking and sucking and nipping until you're writhing against him, desperate for more.

His hands drift lower, skimming over your stomach and hips before dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. He strokes you through the damp fabric of your underwear, his touch light and teasing.

"So wet already," he marvels, his voice thick with arousal. "You're so responsive, mein Schatz. So perfect."

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your pants and underwear, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion. You kick them off impatiently, standing before him in nothing but your socks and shoes.

Kurt takes a step back, his eyes raking over your naked form with undisguised hunger. He licks his lips, his tail swishing behind him in anticipation.

"Lie down on the couch," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I want to taste you." You obey without hesitation, settling into the plush cushions immediately.

Kurt follows you to the couch, his eyes never leaving your body as he crawls over you, settling between your spread thighs. He runs his hands up your legs, his touch light and teasing, until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, spreading your folds with his fingers and exposing your glistening flesh to his hungry gaze. "I can't wait to taste you."

He leans down, dragging his tongue along your slit in one long, slow lick. The sensation is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. You gasp, your hips lifting off the couch as you seek more of his touch.

Kurt chuckles, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. He looks up at you through his lashes, his yellow eyes gleaming with mischief and desire.

"Patience, mein Schatz," he teases, blowing a cool stream of air over your wet heat. "We have all the time in the world."

And then he's diving back in, his tongue delving deep into your core, lapping at your essence like a man starved. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking over the sensitive bud again and again until you're writhing beneath him, desperate for release.

His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he feasts on your flesh, his groans of pleasure muffled against your skin. The room fills with the obscene sounds of his licking and sucking, punctuated by your own breathy moans and gasps.

Kurt brings a hand up to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen nub as he continues to tongue-fuck your dripping cunt. The dual stimulation is too much, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

"That's it, Kleine," he encourages, his voice rough with arousal. "Let go. Come for me."

His words are all it takes to send you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You cry out, your hands fisting in Kurt's hair as waves of pleasure crash over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity.

Kurt works you through it, his tongue and fingers never faltering as he prolongs your climax, drawing out every last shudder and gasp until you're boneless and spent, collapsing back against the couch in a sweaty, satisfied heap.

He presses one last kiss to your sensitive flesh before crawling up your body, settling his weight on top of you. His erection presses insistently against your thigh as he wiggles off his pants, hot and hard and ready for you.*

"I need you, meine Engel," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. "I need to be inside you."

He reaches down between your bodies, grasping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. You can feel the heat of him, the pulsing need that throbs against your slick folds.

With one swift thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely. You cry out at the sudden stretch, your walls clenching around him like a vice.

"Fuck, you're tight," Kurt groans, his hips rocking against yours as he begins to move. "So perfect. So gut."

He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, his cock hitting depths you didn't even know you had. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, igniting a fire in your core that threatens to consume you whole. Your heart flutters hearing him slur out German and English in a pleasure drunken haze. Kurt's tail wraps around your legs, holding them open wide as he pistons into you, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps.

"So good," he pants, his face buried in your neck as he laves his tongue over your pulse point. "So perfekt. So mine."

His words send a shiver down your spine, igniting a possessive heat in your core. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into your body with each thrust.

"Yours," you gasp, your nails digging into the fur of his back. "All yours, kurt"

Kurt growls, low and deep, his tail tightening around your legs as he pounds into you with abandon. The couch creaks beneath your combined weight, threatening to give way under the force of his thrusts.

"Ich liebe dich," he slurs, his words muffled against your skin. "Love you so much. Need you. Need to be inside you forever."

His confession sends you careening over the edge, your body seizing up as another orgasm rips through you. You clench around him, your walls fluttering and spasming as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

"Fuck, Prinzessin," Kurt groans, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release. "Feel so good. So perfect. Gonna come. Gonna fill you up."

With a final, bruising thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your waiting womb. You can feel the heat of his seed, the way it paints your insides, marking you as his.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the cushions as he pants against your neck. His tail unwinds from your legs, draping lazily over your thigh as he nuzzles into your hair.

"I love you," he murmurs, his voice soft and sated. "My perfect girl. Meine schöne Künstlerin."

You smile, your heart full to bursting with love and contentment.

Nearly a year later

The chapel was quiet save for the soft whisper of your pencil across paper. Early morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting familiar blue patterns across the wooden pews. Kurt knelt at the altar in prayer, his tail curved peacefully behind him, rosary beads wrapped gently around his three-fingered hands.

You'd grown comfortable here in these morning moments, sharing this sacred space with him. What had once felt like an intrusion now felt like belonging. Your sketchbook was filled with these quiet scenes—Kurt in prayer, Kurt reading his Bible, Kurt simply existing in this place that meant so much to him. But this morning was different. This morning, your hand trembled slightly as you drew, your mind wandering to the small box hidden in your art supplies.

It had taken weeks to create, working late into the night in your studio after Kurt had fallen asleep. A hand-carved wooden ring box, painted with delicate scenes from your relationship—the first time you'd been caught painting him, your first kiss, teaching art class together, quiet moments in the chapel. The ring inside was simple silver, engraved with tiny crosses and artist's brushes intertwined.

"You're thinking very loudly this morning, Liebling," Kurt's voice startled you from your thoughts. He hadn't moved from his position, but his tail swayed knowingly.

"Sorry," you mumbled, adding another shadow to your sketch. "Didn't mean to disturb your prayers."

"You never disturb me," he said softly, finally turning to face you with that gentle smile that still made your heart skip. "Though I am curious what has you so distracted. Usually you're much more focused when drawing in here."

You set down your sketchbook with trembling fingers. "Actually, I... I have something for you."

Kurt's eyebrows rose curiously as you reached into your art bag, pulling out the painted box. His golden eyes widened as you stood and walked to him, kneeling beside him at the altar.

"Kurt Wagner," you began, your voice shaky but determined, "you've been my muse, my inspiration, my best friend, and the love of my life. You've shown me that beauty exists in so many forms, that faith can be found in art just as much as prayer, and that love..." you had to pause, swallowing hard as his tail curled around your wrist encouragingly, "love can be both the masterpiece and the creation itself."

You opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. "Would you let me spend the rest of my life creating with you?"

Kurt's breath caught as he took in the painted scenes on the box, his fingers trailing reverently over the tiny details you'd spent so long perfecting. When he looked up, his eyes were shining with tears.

"Mein Gott," he whispered, "you've managed to surprise the teleporter." His tail tightened around your wrist as he pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours. "Did you really think there could be any answer but yes? You are the greatest masterpiece God has ever placed in my life."

Your laugh was watery as you slipped the ring onto his finger, a perfect fit just as you'd hoped. Kurt cradled your face in his hands, his touch infinitely gentle.

"Though I must say," he murmured, his accent thick with emotion, "you've rather stolen my thunder, Liebling." With his tail, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, making you gasp. "I was planning to ask you after morning mass."

Inside was a delicate gold ring with a blue sapphire that matched his fur perfectly. "Great minds think alike, ja?"

You couldn't speak through your tears as he slipped the ring onto your finger, but you didn't need to. The way you pulled him into a kiss said everything necessary, the morning light painting you both in shades of blue and gold through the stained glass windows.

"I can't wait to see how you'll paint this moment," Kurt whispered against your lips, making you laugh.

"Already planning it," you admitted. "Though I might need my muse to pose for several reference sketches."

His tail wrapped around your waist as he grinned. "I believe that can be arranged. After all..." he pressed another soft kiss to your lips, "we have the rest of our lives to perfect it."

Through the chapel windows, the morning light continued to paint you both in blues and golds, artist and muse, two hearts creating something beautiful together. And if anyone noticed that your afternoon art class was especially romantic that day, well... they were kind enough not to mention it. Though you did have to tell Jenny, once again, that no, she still couldn't paint Mr. Wagner for her assignment—even if he was now your fiancé.

You woke up to soft snores and looked over, unable to help but smile softly. Your husband's sleeping face was too cute to not smile at. After five years of being married, you'd never grow tired of waking up to this. Recently he had taken to growing out a goatee, saying it made him look more mature (you couldn't help but agree—after all, it made your mind wander a lot too). You carefully pulled out of his embrace without waking him; his tail was always a struggle to remove from its place around your leg without waking him, but you managed it. After a small silent dance of triumph, you moved out of your shared bedroom to the room across from it.

The room was halfway painted, though you had been working on it for the past six months. It had paintings of stories and family littered across it—scenes from Kurt's favorite fairy tales, the X-Men as loving aunts and uncles, even a small portrait of Professor Xavier smiling benevolently from above the planned crib space. You picked up a brush and were about to continue when you accidentally kicked a paint bucket. That's all it took, and with a sudden puff of smoke your husband had teleported in, his stance ready for action but relaxing when he saw it was just you up early.

"Mein Gott, woman, I thought you were a thief!" He exclaimed, holding his three-fingered hand over his chest before walking over with a soft tired smile and pecking your lips. "You're up early, I don't even hear the morning birds yet."

"Needed to stretch my legs," you hummed back, and he hummed softly in suspicion. His hand rested on your stomach.

"Are you sure it is not because of the Kleine?" He spoke in a teasing voice as he gently rubbed your stomach.

You leaned back against his chest, letting his warmth seep into you as you both gazed at the wall you'd been painting. His tail automatically wrapped around your waist, just above where your small baby bump was beginning to show. "Maybe," you admitted. "I just... I want it to be perfect before they arrive."

Kurt nuzzled against your neck, his goatee tickling your skin. "Liebling, with you as their mother, how could it be anything but perfect?" His hand joined yours on the brush. "Though perhaps we could add a few more acrobatic scenes? A future X-Man should know their father's best moves, ja?"

You laughed softly, mindful of the early hour. "Kurt, we don't even know if they'll be able to teleport yet."

"Ah, but they're already showing artistic talent!" He moved to stand beside you, gesturing dramatically at your stomach. "Look how perfectly they've rounded out your usually straight lines!"

"Did you just call me fat, Mr. Wagner?" you asked with mock offense.

His eyes widened comically. "Nein! Never! I merely meant to say you're more... sculptural these days?" His tail flicked nervously as he tried to backtrack, making you giggle.

"Saved it," you murmured, turning back to the wall. You'd been working on a particular scene—a small blue figure learning to teleport while protective arms waited to catch them. "Do you really think they'll like it? All of this?"

Kurt's arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he surveyed your work. "Mein Schatz, they will love it. Just as they will love you." His hand splayed protectively over your stomach. "Though perhaps we should add a small easel next to the training equipment? Best to be prepared for all possibilities."

You turned in his arms, brush still in hand, accidentally leaving a small blue streak across his chest. "Oops."

His grin turned mischievous. "Oh? Is that how we're playing this morning?" He reached for another brush. "You know, the wall isn't the only canvas in need of some color..."

"Kurt Wagner, don't you dare—" But it was too late. With a playful BAMF, he was behind you, painting a gentle heart on the back of your nightshirt.

What followed was a careful (mindful of your condition) but enthusiastic paint war, filling the nursery with quiet laughter and colorful streaks. By the time the sun began to rise, you were both covered in paint, sitting on the drop cloth and admiring your handiwork—both on the walls and each other.

"You know," Kurt mused, his tail drawing abstract patterns in a small paint puddle, "this might be your best work yet."

You looked around at the cheerful chaos you'd created together—the story-filled walls, the paint-splattered drop cloths, the mixing of your artistic vision with his playful additions. Your hand found his, fingers intertwining as they rested on your growing bump.

"No," you said softly, "I think our best work is still in progress."

His answering smile was brighter than the rising sun, and as he pulled you in for a paint-smudged kiss, you couldn't help but think that sometimes the most beautiful art came from life itself—messy, unexpected, and absolutely perfect.

Though you did make him clean up the paint footprints he'd teleported all over the mansion before the students woke up. Your gaze went over to the window which Kurt had helped you place the stain on. The blue hues glittered over the room and it filled you with a sense of love and happiness. Blue would always be apart of your life now, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

#fluff #smut fanfiction #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler #xmen x reader #kurt wagner #kurt wagner smut #nightcrawler smut #xmen nightcrawler

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cometiny · 4 months ago

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I finally finished these!

They're inspired by inside out but I split up logic instead of feelings :3

Here's some info on each of them:

Imagination (or "Mage" for short) is the star of the logic department. nothing would really work if she wasn't there to connect the dots. and since she's the only one of them capable of creating something new, I thought a witch design would really suit her. plus a witch hat always creates an unmistakable silhouette. She's white to represent a blank slate, and the other colors are close to the cmy primary colors cuz she can imagine almost anything using just a few foundational ideas :3

Interest is a curious little guy who is delighted by all things new, and unfamiliar, so I thought the alien thingies would be a cute way to represent that. He looks like a little kid bc kids love asking questions, much like he does! He loves to learn things but his attention is often split between too many things at once, and he needs the others to guide him to what he should focus on.

Evaluation (or "Eve" for short) is very put together, practical and serious, though the cape also hints at a more adventurous side, which shows her openness to new paths. Her overall appearance may seem stoic but all her clothes are quite floaty, as she's willing to consider all the options before making a decision

Bias looks like an imp cuz they're the little bug in ur brain that tells you to prioritize yourself, and she keeps track of personal goals (albeit not always long term goals.) They will often propose certain ideas and beliefs as truth, simply because believing it would be beneficial, without much regard for weather or not it's actually true.

Knowledge is the most stoic of them all. she's all facts and no bullshit. she's a bit of a housewife bc she has to maintain all the knowledge in order and clean up facts that turn out to be false while adding and sorting all the new stuff. Her input is usually dry, but it helps keep the others on track.

Doubt is responsible for sorting out disposable influences. if interest is the one to ask for an answer, her job is to question the answer, and make sure the new information is reliable enough to hold on to.

intuition is often hard to read. she's mysterious and elusive, yet wise beyond comprehension. she's a bit like royalty, as she has a lot of power in the mind, yet no one dares to really question her. It is usually assumed that there is truth in her input, even if her riddles are hard to interpret sometimes.

Reflection is like a ghost, always looking to the past, and making sense of the world retroactively. She's responsible for aligning the new with the old, and painting a picture of how things are by understanding how they (seemingly) have always been.

Perception (or "Pepper") is just a fun guy living in the moment. they're a sensory seeking type, while not doing much thinking. they kinda just walk around stating the obvious, but you'd be surprised how often that comes to use when the other guys start over-analyzing and over-interpreting everything. Much like Knowledge, Pepper also helps keep everyone on track with reality.

#my art #cartoon #inside out #inside out 2 #logic au #idk if I'm gonna make anything else with this concept #sort of just a fun design exercise for me :3

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harunayuuka2060 · 9 months ago

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Professor Vargas: No. Definitely not. I would rather build her a house than have her join a dorm full of guys.

Crowley: But... That would add up to our expenses-

Professor Trein: WHICH we could easily afford, headmage.

Professor Crewel: Yes. I agree.

Sam: Look at us already have taken a liking to our little imp!

Professor Vargas: Ha! Yes! The moment I saw her, I claimed her as my daughter!

Crowley: ...

Crowley: *clears throat* Very well. Uh... While we build a house for her and her son, she could stay in the little tent I lent her-

The professors: GIVE HER A ROOM.

Crowley: ...Okay.

Crowley: I suppose the Pop Music Club would not complain if we used their club room for this purpose.

Professor Crewel: Your house will take a month to complete, so you will need to stay in this classroom for the time being.

F!MC: Thank you, professor. And I apologize for causing so much trouble.

F!MC: If there's anything I can do to pay your kindness back, please do tell me.

Toddler Riddle: Yeah. I will help too.

Professor Crewel: There's no need. I will be assigning a housewarden to help you in setting up this room.

F!MC: Th-Thank you, professor!

Professor Crewel: Don't mention it. Have a nice day, pup. *then takes his leave*

F!MC: ...

F!MC: *lets out a sigh of relief* *then smiles at her son* Isn't this great, Riddle?

Toddler Riddle: *nods* Mama doesn't need to knock on people's doors anymore.

F!MC: *hugs him close* Yes. You're right.

Kalim and Lilia: Me! ME!

The other housewardens: ...

Professor Crewel: I am actually thinking of appointing Rosehearts for this job.

Lilia: Crewel, the room they're using is the Pop Music Club's.

Kalim: Yeah! And I want to be friends with her!

Idia: Well, Kalim could definitely buy some furniture.

Lilia: Yes! And I'll buy her son toys!

Professor Crewel: ...

Professor Crewel: Rosehearts, what do you think?

Riddle: I don't mind.

Azul: Are not you appointing him since the lady's son shares his name?

Professor Crewel: Yes. That's the reason.

Riddle: ...

Riddle: Thank you for accompanying me, Cater and Trey.

Trey: We want to meet the lady too.

Cater: I met her in person, and she is really nice. Though it felt like I was talking to someone older.

Trey: *chuckles* She's a mother. Of course, you would feel that way.

Riddle: Ah. We're here.

Riddle, Trey, and Cater: *noticed that the door was slightly open and decided to peek inside*

F!MC: *cuddling her son while reading him a recipe out of a cookbook*

Toddler Riddle: Mama? Do we have to follow everything in this?

F!MC: Hmm... I think we can change the shape of the eggs and carrots.

Toddler Riddle: I'll make them stars.

F!MC: Oh! That will be great, Riddle! Do you want to cook it yourself? Mama will make you mini-kitchen utensils!

Toddler Riddle: Yes, please.

Riddle, Trey, and Cater: ...

*The three decided to move steps back.*

Cater and Trey: *communicates through eye-contact*

Trey: 'Mini-kitchen utensils.'

Cater: 'Yes. And that's so adorable!'

*meanwhile*

Riddle: *his mother issues are trembling*

Riddle: Professor Crewel, I would certainly appreciate it if you would not assign me chores related to assisting the lady.

Professor Crewel: Why? Is there a problem?

Riddle: ...

Riddle: N-No...

Professor Crewel: I was hoping you would be friends with her because you are the same age and can serve as a role model for her to strive more in the future.

Professor Crewel: In any circumstance, I would delegate responsibility to another person. Do not worry.

Riddle: ...

*Back in Heartslabyul*

Trey: Riddle? What happened to you? Why did you run?

Riddle: I had a pressing task to complete.

Cater: Well, Trey? Have you seen how happy they were when we gave them the mini-kitchen utensils? 🥺

Cater: Ridz said thank you and called me "Uncle Cater".

Trey: *chuckles* Yeah. You almost squealed because of that.

Cater: By the way, Riddle? MC was looking forward to meeting you.

Riddle: Huh? Why?

Trey: She's interested to know what our Riddle is like. You know, someone her son can look up to?

Riddle: ...

Riddle: Maybe next time, Trey.

Riddle: Definitely...

Trey and Cater: ...

#twisted wonderland #twst teen!mom mc #twst toddler riddle oc #twst riddle #twst trey #twst cater #twst lilia #twst idia #twst azul #twst crowley #twst crewel #twst trein #twst vargas #twst sam

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writteninlunarlight-years · 10 days ago

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Tears to Shed

This is based on Tears to Shed from the Corpse Bride. Where Alastor accidentally marries the reader. The only problem is Alastor doesn't want to marry anyone. TW: Angst, Hurt, Sorrow, Illusions to Suicide but you can't die in hell unless it's angelic steel; Alastor is well Alastor, Mimzy is Alastors partner in this. <I am open to writing a part 2 if yall like this> @willowaudreykeyes helped me edit!

The day Alastor slipped the ring onto your finger seemed to shake the whole world with the weight of fated lovers. He was a striking figure, with caramel skin glinting beneath the sun, eyes alight, and a vigorous appetite for power and immortality. But beneath the surface, a shadow lingered: his heart was not free but tied to Mimzy, that star of the city, resplendent with the possibilities of influence and status among humans.

But in that very moment, as your eyes caught the gleam of the ring, you could almost think he chose you. You were, after all, wearing his ring, and he had said those vows with such passion as if some unseen force bound your destinies.

But then time unraveled, and the truth trickled in like a cold, silent mist: Alastor wanted neither you nor Mimzy. He wanted to be free and live a life unencumbered by chains called commitment. He wanted power and to be feared above all others in his realm.

You had been heartbroken, perched up on the roof of a falling building in Hell, looking out at the fire spreading to the horizon. Never a fan of red and black, you'd always enjoyed blue and silver. The licks of flames danced like lost souls, taunting your self-worth.

You did, indeed, feel the gravity of your life in that moment-the corpse bride, once a loving beauty, now a demon cloaked by yearning and solitude: Alastor had brought one spark of hope into your heart only to cast it down into the dark. The pain of betrayal and the weight of your new existence as a demon were crushing you, threatening to consume the last remnants of your humanity.

You remembered that cold, starless night when he slid the ring onto your finger. For the beat of a moment, you were complete, while today, you are the broken pieces of what you once were: a beautiful woman full of life and a longing to be loved. But now, the truth stared you in the face: he was trapped, and you were the specter haunting his every step, it would appear.

You'd found Alastor begging for Mimzy's help only hours before. The scene had played like an echo in your mind, a foreign sound that twisted your insides. You'd seen it in his eyes, heard it in the shake of his voice. Beneath the bluster of a power-hungry fool, he was just a man desperate to be free of the tethers of a promise he had never wanted to make. And you, you were the one who had been used as a pawn in their twisted game of power and love.

As the reality fell in your heart like ashes, your friends emerged from the shadows: Nero, the imp, and Arianna, the succubus. Their loyalty to you puts a soothing wave over your spirit of fire and ice. They pressed themselves against your sides, the heat from their bodies contrasting with the chill of your skin and the despair that began to wrap around you as time passed.

They stared at the scene before you, knowing this was their doing. Had they not encouraged you to keep Alastor in your life, to guide and mentor you in a fantasy of mortals and demons in love, you wouldn't be like this on the brink of unleashing your powers on all of Hell once again, just as you had on the day you had died.

"What does that wispy little brat have that you don't have double?" Nero's voice was soft yet managed to cut through the fog in your brain. The gentle touch of his hand to yours was akin to a lifeline for a moment.

Arianna leaned in, her eyes aglow with wild affection. "She can't hold a candle to the beauty of your smile!" she said, in words that were an attempt at stitching the pieces of your heart together.

"Yeah, how about a pulse?" You snorted, the venom of bitterness thick in your voice as you stared at the fiery scene below your chosen hideout. You just felt like an antique compared with the sweet Mimzy.

"Overrated by a mile!" Nero chipped in, his voice light yet grave, as he sat by your side with a mutual understanding of the pain you are experiencing.

"Overfed!" Arianna cut in with a snort, her tail flicking in outrage.

"Overblown!" Nero exclaimed, with echoes of laughter resounding around the darkening space. Then he turned to Arianna, who nodded with full vigor. For a moment, their eyes shone with playfulness as they looked at you, hope alighting in their pupils.

"If he only knew the you that we know," they chorused in unison, gripping your hands tight. Their faces held pride with a touch of pain, but they held steady on one thing: their unity in support of you.

Arianna played with the ring on your left hand, smirking with mischief and love. "And the little silly creature isn't wearing his ring!"

Nero playfully elbowed you. "And she doesn't play piano!"

"Or dance or sing! No, she doesn't compare!" they chortled, their voices rising like some haunting melody.

But the shadows of doubt clung to you like a second skin. "But she still breathes air," you muttered; the weight of your reality fell again.

"Who cares?" they chorused, still enthusiastic, though you knew they were growing tired of your self-doubt.

"Unimportant!" Nero insisted, scrambling onto your shoulder, his small frame reassuring.

“Overblown!" Arianna echoed with whimsical reassurance, wrapping her tail gently around your arm.

"If only he could see how special you can be. If only he knew you that we know," they said in one accord, a mantra to which you were no longer sure you believed.

You stood, peeling yourself gently from the tangle of friends. Your undead eyes threatened to spill over with tears as you swayed on the precipice of despair, humming a mournful tune. Closer to the edge of the building you sat atop, the seductive allure of the fall whispered promises of nothing, for you could not die here.

"If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain. If you cut me with a knife, it's still the same." You flourish the blade hidden in your garter, the cold steel calling to your mind your immortality. The use of it on Alastor flashed across your mind a spark of the most dangerous kind. You chase the thought away, turning back to your lament. The struggle between your desire for revenge and your lingering love for Alastor was tearing you apart, threatening to push you over the edge of sanity.

"And I know her heart is beating, and I know that I am dead. Yet the pain here that I feel, please try and tell me it's not real." You turned your gaze to your friends, their faces dimly lit by the firey light of hell, then fell back from the rooftop, landing softly within a coffin overflowing with blue and silver roses, the delicate petals wrapping you in a sorrow growing only larger by the minute.

"And yet, it would seem I still have a tear to shed." Your eyes, no longer shining bright, now blazed with the bitter salt of lost love, lost on the one with whom you had believed you shared. Yet time was a thief and saved little space for sorrow. Nero and Arianna were already down to your level, their eyes afire with determination in jarring contrast with the despair flooding your heart.

Nero was first to huddle beside you, his face lined with concern and encouragement. "The only redeeming feature of that little creature is that she's alive!"

Arianna joined him, her cheeks flushed from the hurried descent. "Yeah, it's overrated!" she chimed in, light in tone but weighted with the depth of unsaid meaning.

Nero nodded vigorously, nudging you gently as he gestured to the world beyond. "Yeah, even overblown!"

Arianna smirked, crossing her arms in a very defiant pose, even going so far as to tilt her chin upward in some kind of dare for you to say otherwise. "Everybody knows that’s just a temporary state, which is cured very quickly when we meet our fate!"

Nero's grin widened as he helped you sit up, your surroundings—a darkened alleyway—looming on like some sort of forgotten lover's heart. "Who cares?

Arianna wrapped her arm around your waist, the touch grounding and warm. "Unimportant!" she insisted, dismissing the weight of your sorrow with a wave of her hand.

Nero tugged your good hand with newly formed determination, pulling you toward the busy streets, back into the folds of society. "Overrated!"

Arianna toyed with your hair before flashing a mischievous wink over the mask of worried tension she knew was building the more they danced around your feelings. "Overblown!"

The pair sparkled brightly as they laughed-a stark difference amidst the cowering crowds shrinking away from you, the infamous Corpse Bride, the dainty specter who wielded more souls than damn near Lucifer himself.

"If only he could see how special you could be, if only he knew you, that we know!" Their words of encouragement merely cut through your heart like daggers.

You merely shook your head, a deepening frown as the shadows danced in your eyes, before pulling away and meandering to drift across the streets. A melancholy tune tumbled from your lips as those who'd dare to follow quickly began to wither into roses of silver and blue, scattered remnants of what once was. As you approached the next street, your lament started again, an echoing whisper.

"If I touch a burning candle, I can feel no pain; in the ice or in the sun, it's all the same." You breezed by a café with candles on its tables casting their golden light into the night air, and without even batting an eyelash, you blew them out, embracing the darkness like an old friend.

Your eyes closed, knowing, sans sight, that you were the most significant threat this Hellscape had ever known. Your heart clutched, and your sorrow blossomed into a dark storm that sent those who knew your power scurrying back into the shadows, fear etched upon their faces.

"Yet I feel my heart is aching; though it doesn't beat, it's breaking, and the pain here that I feel, please, try and tell me it's not real." As your eyes fluttered open, the street transformed before you: what once was vibrant red and black now lay cloaked in shades of blue and silver- your wailing, weaving a tapestry of despair, draped over the once bustling scenery.

"I know that I'm dead, yet it seems that I still have some tears to shed." Your voice was barely heard, and there was a broken murmur as you made your way to your house. The chill of the stone outside was like the weight of your grief. Climbing the stairs with sluggish motions, you sat at your piano bench and stared onto the keys, the swell of your sorrow deep.

Nero and Arianna watched you, their faces heavy with what was not said, too much pain entering them as it had the rest of hell when you started your lament. They knew all too well that you only called upon your full banshee powers when the weight of despair bore too much, even that they could not fix it.

You laid your fingers against the keys, and the weight of silence fell. You pressed a key, and the note sang out to resound as one deep ache in your soul, for Alastor would go back to the world of the living, leave you for another, and leave you a shadow.

The sob, so fragile yet mighty, ripped itself free from your lips and unleashed a storm into the very pits of hell. Your wail pierced the night, a chorus of anguish, seeing as you were Y/N, the Corpse Bride, or better yet, a banshee of ill fate, rivaling the voice of Lilith herself.

The roses that danced around your abode shook with solemn trembles at the harmonization of keys to a requiem of lost love. And you, still lost between the planes of life and death, celebrated being the Harbinger of Sorrow.

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monster-slxt · 1 year ago

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You are an exorcist that specializes in exorcising demons.

Currently, you are investigating a small town that's had an unusual amount demonic activity.

You questioned the towns people, however, most seem unwilling to even mention the stranger going ons in their town and simply avoid your questions before quickly walking away.

Lucky for you though, you manage to overhear a few of the towns folk gossiping with each other.

Apparently, for the last few months, a terrifying creature has been roaming the streets seemingly search for something. What it is looking for no one wants to know...

Even more terrifying was that anyone foolish enough to still be out at night would go missing. Only to be found the next morning unconscious with their clothes in tatters.

You then visit the local church to see if the priest if he knows anything.

The priest is surprisingly welcoming of you. Quickly leading you inside and even offering some refreshments.

You explain why your here and ask if priest may know of anything. But the priest sadly shakes his head.

With a sigh, you get up to leave, but are quickly stopped by the priest. He says that it is too dangerous to go out this late and that you should stay in the church with him at least until sunrise.

Deciding it's probably a good idea, you agree.

That night as you sleep in the bed given to you, the priest silently creeps into the room. He stares down with glowing red eyes at your sleeping form.

He so desperately wanted to crawl on top of you and rip that teasingly thin layer of clothing from your oh so tempting body and fuck you until your moans like a bitch in heat.

But ah, he can't. Not yet at least. It simply wasn't the right moment.

It ironic really, before he would have condemn such lecherous thoughts. Back then he was a devout servant of God. A truly holy man.

But that was before he got possessed by the demon. Before his mind and soul were beyond redemption.

Now he was nothing more than a monster that indulges into his own sin.

For the past few months his demon had been searching for a mate, but has had no luck.

None of the humans he found were right. Sure they were decent fucks, but they broke way too easily and left him unsatisfied.

Then you appeared.

The moment he saw you, he knew you were perfect. A single whiff of your scent was enough to have the demon in him purring.

Oh he couldn't wait to see you round with his offspring! All in good time, love~

Kissing you on the mouth anon this is so good-

Of course, in the morning the priest would offer up the bed for as long as I needed to rid the town of its demonic influence. And of course I'd suspect nothing from a holy man. The next few days would go on much the same, getting nowhere with the locals during the day and sleeping in the church at night. The priest taking every opportunity to leer at me while I sleep, weakening my defense slowly with his unholy magic. At least The townsfolk seemed to ease up a bit with the lack of recent attacks.

It was only when I'd finally gotten frustrated with getting nowhere and decided to go out at night myself that I'd catch a glimpse of anything demonic. A huge hulking beast unlike anything I'd seen in all my years as an exorcist with a goats head and huge bat wings. The most I'd ever dealt with was a tiny imp. So I panicked.

All I could think to do in the moment was run for the church, the beast lazily keeping pace. It was clear as it followed me onto the holy ground that there was nothing I could possibly do. The sudden hint of arousal mixed into the fear the beast could smell of me finally became too much to bear- lunging forwards and easily catching me in its claws.

"I've waited so long for this" a rumbling deep yet somehow familiar voice purrs in my ear as long claws shred my clothes like butter. My attempts to flee were quickly stopped by an ungodly long tongue licking down my neck and a sudden weight on my stomach.

Risking a glance I felt faint. The demons cock was so huge there was no possible way it could fit inside me. Though he seemed intent on trying, pulling back and lining up with my cunt.

Without warning half the huge rod slammed inside of me, the stretch unimaginable. He wasted no time in pulling out and jackhammering back in, each thrust forcing more and more of his demonic cock in me. It was only then that I dimly became away of the familiarity in the demons voice; the priest. He moaned how I would be such a good broodmare, taking his corruption so well.

All night he fucked me, never once slowing down. Pumping me full of his demonic seed over and over again until sun rise. Leaving me with my stomach huge and swollen with cum, no doubt already knocked up, to go get ready for Sunday mass.

Nine months later I'm showing a group of church woman my engagement ring, stomach round and tight with twins. How lucky I was, the ladies cooed, that the priest was willing to marry me pregnant with an exes child. Not many men would, but he was just so good and holy.

If only they knew they knew they were praying with the father of the hellspawn kicking in my stomach

#asks #monsterfucking #monster smut #tetro #dubcon #preg #demon

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kenandeliza · 7 months ago

Text

a collection of ideas of a post-suspendium Golden Age comics Billy Batson if he ended up in the 21st century (pick any comic continuity

EDIT: IF YOU SEE THIS POST HAVING A WEIRD/REPEATING PARAGRAPH/FORMAT, LET ME KNOW BECAUSE TUMBLR ISNT WORKING FOR MY MOBILE

1.adoption scenario

(If a leaguer wanted to adopt Billy, he’d just show them his birth certificate)

Billy smirking:” Sorry, you can’t legally adopt a grandpa”

2. Billy teasing with a smug boomer voice: “Back in my day, we used to play with atomic machines!”

3. youtube

Billy:thanks for showing me how to use a modern phone (insert friend from 21st century)! But I wonder, where is the tv remote for changing the youtube channel? And Where is the news?

(Friend from the 21st century):*sighs* it’s so over

4. Old friends

Aside from the fawcett city heroes, Billy in this case probably relates more to the older heroes like wildcat, Alan scott or Jay Garrick, maybe they have multiple team ups in the past and would reminiscent over it (the rest having their favorite drinks while Billy preferring his hot chocolate ice cream)

5. Teasing

The younger hero teams who know his identity would teasingly call him a “boomer”, Billy wanted to protest that he technically was born before boomers but they ignored it and still teased him about it.

to the rest of the heroes who didn’t know about his identity, they assume captain marvel is more than centuries old, and thinks this is the reason the kid heroes calls him a boomer.

6. Jokes

Billy: “oh so these memes are like what replaces comic strips i used to read, how nice”

Some of these ideas are taken from the fanfics i’ve written, some just came to me inside my head, but it’s fun to think about it.

(Edited: added more scenarios)

7. Caprisuns

Caprisuns werent invented yet when Billy was in suspendium. After getting out of suspendium, He really likes caprisun.

Other leaguers would be confused, Marvel's liking of caprisun is comparable to Martian Manhunter's love of oreos. When asked about when his capri sun addiction started, Marvel shrugged, "They weren't made before I was born, so it was only recent"

The league is now confused as to how old marvel is. Wonder Woman relates to this with her fascination of ice cream flavors.

8. Billy automatically put on a Mid-atlantic accent whenever he is near a microphone due to his habit and work with Whiz station for his TV segments as well as radio programs.

Whenever Captain Marvel uses a communicator, he unintentionally uses a mid-atlantic accent (this confuses the leaguers, "who is this guy!?"). Some of the leaguers enjoyed listening to his voice

Marvel would occasionally file an audio JL report (yes, with the same mid-atlantic accent) when he's on a hurry and couldn't type it out with his typewriter (he still finds it difficult to use a computer) : "And there you have it, folks! In a nutshell, I managed to handle the There was an outbreak of imps but Mary and I already took care of it, Junior apprehend the acrobat after a terible case of Moonitis, the three of us thwarted Mr. Mind's dastardly scheme to seize control of the sun, and we all prevented Sivana from being promoted to "King of Earth" by hurling his atomic bomb straight into the heart of the sun itself! That's the latest from me, This is Captain Marvel, signing off!"

Leaguer: "Why does he sound like a radio host commenting on a football game?"

Other leaguer:*shrugs*

9. Billy watches a cgi lion movie for the first time

..and thought innocently that there are other talking tigers like tawky tawny.

Some of these ideas are taken from the fanfics i’ve written, some just came to me inside my head, but it’s fun to think about it.

#shazam #captain marvel #dc comics #billy batson #Scenarios #scenario #Billy being a boomer trapped in a kid’s body- the scenario

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theamberfist · 5 months ago

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Sink or Swim Part 2 | Stolas x Reader

Romantic! Stolas x Swim Instructor! Reader

Description: When Stolas is busy, Stella must take Octavia to her swim lessons instead; which no one is very happy about.

(Notes:) (gender neutral reader) (reader is a sinner) (reader is young Octavia's swim teacher) (Part 2 of Sink or Swim)

Words: 2,488

Read part 1 here

"We're going to be late!" Octavia called as she tugged on the taller owl's hand. "Mommy, come on!"

Stella rolled eyes but followed after her daughter, who was practically dragging her to the pool. For the owlet's sake, she kept her frustration about the situation inside for now. After all, swim lessons had never been her idea, so it peeved her that she was now the one having to deal with them because of Stolas.

The prince would have attended in her place like usual if not for some work-related obligation that had come up. And, since the pool had a rule that required a parent to be present for all lessons, Stella had been forced to perform the responsibility in his absence until he got back. He'd promised to be as quick as possible, hoping to show up before the lesson ended, but she highly doubted that would happen.

Finally, they reached the building and headed inside, where the imp at the front desk immediately recognized Octavia and checked them in. Stella helped her into her swim suit, thankful that the little girl was at least old enough now that she wouldn't have to get in the water with her.

Stella couldn't understand the point anyway. It wasn't as if any of them used the pool they had at the house, and she would hardly have been caught dead getting her feathers wet, anyway. She didn't know why Stolas insisted on keeping Via enrolled in her lessons these last couple years, but it seemed it was just another reason for her to hate him.

Finally, she and Octavia made their way onto the pool deck, where the little owlet instantly recognized her swim teacher and grinned from ear to ear. She called your name and then let go of her mother's hand; taking off running for the water.

"By all means, run." Stella mumbled sarcastically. You turned around, smiling but reminding the girl not to run. She slowed her pace but continued going over to you.

"Good to see you again, Octavia." You smiled before pulling yourself out of the water you'd been waiting in. When you noticed Stella, rather than Stolas following behind her, a look of slight surprise appeared on your face. There was a flash of disappointment in your eyes, too, before you quickly put on a smile and took a step forward, extending your hand to her.

"Hi, I'm-" She cut you off.

"I do not care," she informed you with a wave of her hand, "Just get on with it. You're lucky we didn't skip this lesson entirely." You retracted your hand at that; smile faltering.

"Alright..." You could only assume that this must have been Stolas' wife from the way he'd described her to you before. She was even worse than you expected, but you had little time to dwell on it as Octavia gently tapped your leg.

"Can we get in the water?" She asked excitedly, "I wanna show Mama what I can do!" Your smile returned at that and you nodded, leading her back to the side of the pool as her mother collapsed on a nearby pool chair.

Sighing, you hopped in the pool and then turned to help the little owl after you. She was even more eager than usual to be in the water, and you assumed it had to do with the excitement of a different parent having accompanied her; though you could hardly share her sentiment.

Once she was in the pool and holding onto the side, you started her on her usual drills. Since you'd been working with Octavia since she was an infant, you were well aware of her strengths and weaknesses, as well as her favorite activities when it came to your lessons. She chatted on as you two worked, telling you about whatever came to her mind, and you felt glad she'd gotten so comfortable with you over time.

"Daddy's working today so Mommy brought me instead," she went on to explain as you two sat on the wall doing more kick drills now.

"I saw." You smiled down at her, trying to keep the positive energy you knew was so necessary for teaching kids.

"But he said maybe he'll be able to come to the end of the lesson," Octavia explained, "So maybe they can both watch me then!" You grinned and then pushed yourself into the water before turning to her.

"I'm sure he'll try his best to make it." And, if you were being honest, you hoped you were right. Stolas' company at these lessons was something you thoroughly enjoyed. He would always chat with you before and afterwards, and had such insightful thoughts that you constantly looked forward to his and his daughter's weekly classes.

Stella, on the other hand, was thoroughly uninterested in what her daughter was up to; her eyes trained on her phone as she lounged on the pool chair. Considering she'd shown up in a full gown, you assumed she didn't find herself in places like this often, and therefore, did not care what you taught Octavia so long as you left her alone.

The owlet seemed to notice this because a frown appeared on her face. When you took her in your arms and began helping her with her front glides, she called out to her mother on the deck.

"Mommy, look at me!"

Stella's eyes never left her phone. "That's nice, Via." She replied. Unfortunately for her, though, her child was smarter than she seemed to give her credit for and her frown deepened.

"You aren't looking!" She exclaimed sadly as you reminded her to kick her legs. Stella rolled her eyes before glancing up for a second and then returning to her phone.

"You're doing great." She said dismissively. Octavia looked a little sad so you quickly stepped in to cover.

"She's right; you're doing great," you told the girl with a reassuring smile, "Can you look down at the bottom of the pool? See if there are any runaway fish down there I need to catch." Octavia giggled at that but obliged anyway and put her face down in the water to check for said fish.

After a moment, she looked back up with a bright smile. "No fish!" She exclaimed happily and you smiled back at her.

"None? Are you sure?" You asked cheerfully and she looked down again for good measure. Finally, she raised her head again.

"No fish!" You giggled and she did the same as you finally brought her into the wall.

"Well, thank you for checking!" You told her, "I'm glad we don't have any loose fish today." You placed her on the wall again where she checked to see if Stella had bene watching.

As expected, she hadn't. Octavia's smile immediately dropped and she turned back to you with a sad expression. Feeling pressure to keep her happy, you quickly spoke up. "How about we work on your back float again, hmm?" You suggested. She nodded slowly before letting you support her back and leaning into your hold.

"Lay back like you're sleeping in bed," you reminded her, "and look to see if any fish are in the sky!"

"The sky?" She asked through giggles and you nodded.

"Yep! Sometimes they like to swim around up there. Watch out for Craig specifically; he'll try to splash you." Octavia laughed before bringing her head up to look at Stella again. You couldn't help but feel bad for the girl's neglect by her mother; wishing Stolas would come back to encourage her like he always did. It was so important that kids be told how proud their parents were of them; you knew that.

"Mommy, look at me!" She called again and your heart squeezed. Stella glanced up again.

"Great, sweetie." She replied nonchalantly. This seemed to finally be enough to upset the owlet, though, because she didn't take it for an answer.

"You aren't looking!"

"Yes I am!" Stella shouted back, angry herself now.

"No you aren't!" Octavia replied, crossing her arms as she continued to float on her back with your support. "You're not close enough to see!" Stella rolled her eyes again but stood from her pool chair now and put her arms out as if to say 'see?'

"Better?" She asked in a frustrated tone.

"No!" Octavia called back, "You aren't close enough!" Grumbling, Stella took a few steps closer to the pool. Before she could even ask, though, Octavia was already calling to her. "You're not close enough, Mama!" She exclaimed through slightly teary eyes that made your heart clench, "I want you to see!"

Nearly fuming now, Stella came even closer to the pool so that her feet were right by the edge now. "There, am I close enough for you n-" She couldn't even finish her sentence, though, because as she was walking towards the edge, she slipped on some water and fell back. Her back smacked into the concrete of the pool deck and then the rest of her body slid into the water.

It was at this moment when you realized Octavia's mother likely did not know how to swim. She flailed about in the water, which was a little deeper than where you currently stood holding the owlet, and seemed to panic as the weight of her huge dress pulled her down.

To make matters worse, the lifeguard that was currently supposed to be watching the pool while you taught your lesson was hardly paying attention. Even when you called his name, he hardly batted an eye. Sighing, you replaced Octavia so that she comfortably rested in your left arm now; the way a parent might carry their toddler around.

There was no time to put her safely on the deck if you wanted to save her mother, and it wasn't as if you could leave the girl in the water by herself yet when she had only ever ran assisted drills up to this point. So, you were left with no choice by to swim through the water and towards Stella with the little girl in your arm.

"Mommy!" The owlet called in fear as you finally made your way over to her mother. Stella was still flailing about in the water, which was a good thing at least, since it meant she hadn't yet lost consciousness.

Amidst all the commotion, you didn't even notice that another owl now entered the scene, coming onto the pool deck with a bright smile that immediately disappeared when he saw what was going on. Unsure what to do, he rushed over to the deck near where you and his family were, but he worried he might not reach your group in time to help.

Finally, you reached Stella and grabbed her by the waist with your free arm, dragging her up to the surface as she continued to flail. She smacked you in the face multiple times but you didn't waver; keeping Octavia away from the path of her arms and making sure both their heads stayed above the water.

The lifeguard finally seemed to have noticed what was going on now, because he stood from his chair as if to help, but you just glared at him; having already done most of his job in this situation.

You reached the pool deck now, where you let go of Octavia as soon as she was holding onto the wall. Stolas reached you too, immediately taking her into his arms and out of the water as he asked if she was alright.

You turned your attention to the still-panicking Stella now; making sure she was still breathing as you helped her to sit on the poolside. The lifeguard had grabbed a first aid kit and was coming over to you four now as you looked her over. Luckily, she seemed relatively unharmed, aside from the scare.

"Are you alright?" You asked, "You didn't hit your head when you fell, did you?" Now that she was on dry land, the owl's glare returned as she stared you down.

"No," she replied, crossing her arms, "But my dress is completely ruined! This is all your fault; you filthy sinner!" With that, she stood up from the side of the pool and stomped away, ignoring the lifeguard that tried to offer her medical attention as she passed.

"Mama, where are you going?" Octavia called from her father's arms. Stella didn't pause.

"To get a new dress tailored!" Stella called back, glancing at you again, "And I'll be billing you for it!" Finally, she stormed through the locker rooms and out of the building as you shuddered. The lifeguard gave you a look that asked if you were okay but you just nodded and waved him off; pulling yourself out of the water.

"I think that'll be it for our lesson today," you sighed, turning to Stolas, "I'm so sorry about that." Before he could reply, the owlet in his arms shook her head.

"It wasn't your fault; Mama fell!" She exclaimed as your expression softened. She turned back to her father now. "She needs swim lessons too." He smiled.

"I don't think your mother will be going anywhere near the water after that." He admitted and then looked to you. "But I am sure you had nothing to do with it. Stella can be quite...Easily angered." If he were being completely honest, he couldn't help but wish she hadn't been saved, but he knew you would never let that happen. "And, of course, I will not allow her to take any legal action against you; that includes her clothing expenses." You grinned.

"Thank you, Stolas." You said softly, grabbing your towel from one of the nearby pool chairs and wrapping it around yourself. "If you want to reschedule your next lessons with someone else, I understand." You would have expected him to do so, actually, but he quickly shook his head.

"No need!" He exclaimed a little too hurriedly, "Via enjoys working with you so much and I wouldn't want to uproot her over something like this!" Luckily, the little girl in his arms nodded in agreement, effectively covering for him. You smiled back.

"If that's what you want."

"It is." Stolas assured you with a grin, "It really is." There was a brief moment of silence between you both as you gazed into one another's eyes, and then the prince finally remembered where he was and what was going on as he composed himself by clearing his throat.

"A-anyway," he spoke, "Thank you for saving my...wife." Your heart clenched at the word but you nodded.

"Of course." Then, you turned to Octavia, who was still in her father's arms. "I'll see you next week!" You told her, "Then you can show your dad how much progress we made today." She grinned and nodded excitedly.

"Yeah!"

With that, you bid them both farewell and watched as Stolas carried his daughter out of the pool building. Somehow, as he left, it felt as if a part of your heart went with him.

#helluva boss x reader #helluva boss stolas #helluva stolas #stolas helluva boss #helluvaboss #helluva boss #hellaverse #stolas #stolas goetia #stolas x reader #stolas x you #helluva boss x you #helluva boss x y/n #gender neutral insert #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader

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ponpuriitx · 1 year ago

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𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.

One shot: Blitzø x hell born! Reader.

Summary: A stand up night, that was all it was meant to be. Or maybe it wasn’t..

Word count: 1,0k

Warnings: no use of y/n, smut suggestions but nothing too crazy, friends with benefits, slight angst but fluff.

Notes: This is a one shot ! ! A short story that just came into my mind out of nowhere, and because let’s be honest lil’ Blitzø needs love for fucks sake. If there’s any grammar mistake please let me know ! !

It was no secret that you wanted Blitzø. Well, at least not for Loona.

It all started when you submitted your application to work for I.M.P, you got a call back and had to meet your boss.

And oh boy, was it just you or was he really hot? Couldn’t get through the whole meeting without looking at him not giving a fuck about what he had to say. The last words that actually passed your dumb founded skull was a “You’re hired!” That snapped you out of your trance.

You nodded thanking him like one thousand times, it was easy to do that because you actually needed the fucking money. when you went out of the office you saw a hell hound that was the receptionist. Before entering the meeting you actually got a chance to talk to her, bonding a little rather quickly because of Verosika and her hot Body guard.

After you went out, she glanced at you over her phone “So? How was it?” She asked, going back to her phone but still hearing you. When you told her you would be working here she just smirked still looking at her phone.

It wasn’t a long time till you got used to the Job, I mean it was pretty much just sit there with Loona and usually anytime costumers arrived you would take them. And when Loona did take them and she loose her temper you would do it for her meanwhile she draws daggers with her eyes to the client. You thought that at this steps she would eventually get fired, it didn’t take you long enough to find out that she was your bosses daughter.

Now, with that in mind it didn’t mind you being in this position.

You were in the backseat of I.M.P’s van because Loona called Blitzø to come and pick her up. When you parked and Loona was convincing Blitz to actually hop on the party you weren’t much sure about this idea. You weren’t a party pooper really, but something was telling you inside that you shouldn’t be here. You were on the van because you just so happened to be on the road when Blitz told you to hop on, you didn’t have actual important things to do so you just went with the flow.

Just like now. Looking in between the yelling crowd how your boss was finishing the beer supply without any care and actually beating Beel, making Loona proud. You eventually lost yourself in the crowd, trying not to bump with anyone because you didn’t want to talk to nobody. This type of environment made you uncomfortable, so you stepped into the van and waited for Blitz and Loona to come.

Fuck you fell asleep..

You cleaned the drool from your mouth, looking around where Loona parked in. It was your bosses apartment, “Hey Loona, care to crash at my place for a while and bring me some of the groceries I left? I’m gonna take care of him don’t worry.” She doubted for a second, but eventually let go.

You placed Blitzø in the couch, as you went in the kitchen and grabbed some water for him. Putting the water down, you turned on the tv. After a while of changing through programs you felt a little tug on your things, your head snapping to the sheets as you saw the imp trying to get through your pants. You couldn’t deny it was so fucking hot, still, you pushed him down a little.

“Hey, HEY boss hold on are you all right?” You asked, as he gave you a smirk and relied his head slightly on your inner thigh “I am.. Fiinee” you didn’t believe that because of the tone on his voice. You were about to protest when you felt a sharp but so, so euphoric pain on your inner thigh making a laud moan like whine slip out of your lips.

You felt how the tips of his fingers played through the hem of your underwear, now this was a whole new level. Of course you weren’t a virgin but this, this was different. His fingers slipping in so secure under your underwear touching your aching core, taking high pitched whimpers out of you..

. . .

The next morning, Blitzø woke up in his bed naked. The morning light hurting his eyes as he hugged his own figure, he repositioned himself rubbing his eyes and letting a deep sigh off. He didn’t remember much of last nigh, he could’ve sworn that Loony was the one who brought him back to his place—..

Then, he saw it. Some of your clothes on the floor, he remembered. The long lasting night, the moans, the sounds, how his room was filled with filthy sounds and laughter. The way he grabbed the bare flesh of your thigh as he thrusted deep and rough inside of you. The way you scratched his back so deliciously because of his thrusts, but it was strange. Why were your clothes here if he woke up alone?

It was just a one night thing, this is how it always went for him. You guys fuck and then leave, it was a routine for more that he hated it. That was just how things go, his thoughts stopped when he heard the door opening. You with one of his shirts on and your underwear, “Already up?” You said, you could’ve sworn that he was going to sleep till more later.

Blitz then traced his eyes through your shoulders, how it was laced with Bites and hickeys. You noticed this and chuckled slightly “don’t worry, I’ll get rid of them eventually. Come on, breakfast is ready.” You said walking off to the kitchen leaving a confused Blitzø behind.

This was supposed to be a one night stand thing, but why did you stayed? Weren’t you going to leave? He wasn’t complaining, I mean free breakfast is a win. But it still made him crack a smile.

So it’s safe to say that it wasn’t weird when that “one night stand” turned into three, and three into seven and slowly they didn’t seem like just “meet up to fuck” anymore.

#blitzo #helluva boss x reader #helluva blitzo #helluva boss #i should use some sleep now I’m tired asf #Random writing energy boost at eleven pm #hazbin hotel #helluva loona #helluva x reader #helluva beelzebub #helluva boss verosika #helluva boss blitzo #helluva blitzø #blitzo x reader

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angelcent · 7 months ago

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𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 ・❥・ S. GOJO

summary. you share a bottle of wine with your professor at a weekend conference by the sea, unaware of his intentions and ardor for you.

tags. age gap (early 20s & 40s), professor!gojo, power imbalance, morally grey gojo, idolization, undertones of manipulation. 789 wc.

it was almost too easy for satoru to get you like this—soft and flushed with blood red wine in your veins; the thin strap of your sundress cascading gently over the curve of your shoulder, exposing more of your lovely skin to his greedy gaze. he almost envies the moonlight that's kissing every inch of your soft skin.

if everyone back at the conference room could see you now...

alone with your professor (and mentor) in his hotel suite balcony, sharing a loveseat and bottle of wine while watching the waves roll in and out. there's no trace of the diligent student everyone, including satoru, is normally met with. vulnerable—that's what you are, and satoru has never seen anything lovelier than his student like this.

and why wouldn’t it be easy to have gotten you to this point? you have so much blind faith in your esteemed professor gojo. in your wide, star struck eyes, the older man could do no wrong. that dark flame inside him that's begging to corrupt you grows at the thought of it because an ulterior motive to this would never cross your mind.

“another?” you murmur, voice thick and sweet like honey.

it's the first either of you have spoken in about fifteen minutes and satoru can't remember the last time he's been so comfortable in another's silence. probably since he met his best friend over twenty years ago. he needs you so fucking bad.

satoru smiles and declines, eyeing the loose grasp you have on your wine glass, wondering how your delicate wrist would feel beneath his teeth. “none for me. but I think it’s time I cut you off, kid.”

you sit up at this and don’t seem to notice some wine spilling with the sudden motion, or that the hem of your dress is exposing your thighs now. how would those feel beneath his teeth? "but why? i'm not drunk at all, satoru!” your lip juts out in a cute pout, unaware of how drunk you actually sound.

satoru you said, not sir. you’ve grown more comfortable with your professor throughout the conference weekend. eased into it without the ever present reminders that the university plagues upon you. he’s been a patient man, knowing you'd come around and open up to him in time. all you need is a little push to leave that kids arms.

"are you okay?" he asks with a raised brow. "you've been a wilted little flower since dinner."

under the influence you're even more of an open book, so he catches the way your eyes nervously shift towards the ocean.

"um, it's nothing," you shrug, a failed attempt at nonchalance. it's such an awkward little movement, never failing to remind satoru of a clumsy fawn. as much as he wants to help you grow and fulfill your potential, he also wants to keep you like this. endearingly naive. "i'm sorry if i'm ruining the mood, but i don't want to bore you with my problems."

"and why would that bore me?" he scoffs, trying not to let his irritation show. now he has confirmation that your boyfriend is the reason you often apologize for your own feelings. "what kind of man do you take me for?"

"an old one."

he clicks his tongue and snatches your wine glass from you, taking the final swig. "forty-one isn't old, you little brat."

you giggle. "sorry. but okay, this is about...um..."

satoru resists the urge to roll his eyes. of fucking course. “I see. alright, since I’m such an understanding man and the best professor and boss, we’ll make a deal.”

your full lips, now bitten red under his scrutiny, almost capture all of satoru’s attention. those sweet doe eyes of yours curiously peer up at him. "what's the deal?"

“we’ll have another,” you cheer at this. satoru chuckles again, the lines on his face accentuating with it. “while you tell me what's wrong, kiddo. that boy is ruining an important weekend for you and I think that’s his intention.”

and so you settle even closer, turning to face him as you confess your relationship troubles through a bottle of rosé. satoru notices the cracks and red flags immediately, knowing full well that there's no saving this. not that he'd want to, anyway. but satoru nods and hums along sympathetically, playing the part of a concerned mentor who truly intends to help you through your issues.

he can easily make his move right now and steal you away from that boy who's never deserved you, but that's not all satoru wants. he wants you to make the first move—to break every rule and boundary as professor and student. letting you confide in him is all part of it.

#starring: satoru gojo #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x reader

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jojikawa · 9 months ago

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Kiss Currency 💋

Somehow, you’ve lost your powers leaving Sukuna as your only means of protection. He uses this as an opportunity to get affection from you.

tw// fluff, adult language, MC is Lilith! (a powerful demoness), lewd/suggestive themes. (Inspired by a post I saw on Twitter), a little bit of blood, biting, lewd themes (sexual intercourse + outercourse)

Masterlist

Ryomen Sukuna was rather anxious while lying on the floor of your living room. The couch and coffee table were pushed aside to make room for the sigil that was etched into your floor that was previously hidden by a cute rug. Your husband was in the middle of the sigil while you sat beside him with a grimoire floating next to you. This was the first time you’ve conducted a demonic ritual on him and he couldn’t say he was excited about that.

He came to you, wanting you in more ways than just kissing and cuddling. He wanted to feel you. But you were uncomfortable with Yuuji being present, so you always denied him. But his pining for you proved to be stronger than any will you had. So, you offered to perform a ritual that would temporarily block Yuuji out. It would be like putting him to sleep and Sukuna was all for it.

Although, this was odd. He could hear the cries and screams of sinners from another dimension invading his ears when his mind was quiet. It was uncomfortable. And it takes a lot to make someone like Sukuna uncomfortable so casually. If he thought about it hard enough, he could feel Lucifer prying into his mind, forcibly putting Yuuji to sleep.

“How long is this shit supposed to take?” You heard him grumble, making you smile a bit. “Oh, you’re so impatient.” You teased, raising your index finger to rub his cheek. The simple gesture actually caused him to blush and break eye contact with you.

“I have to make sure I do this right. This is Lucifer’s thing. Not mine. If the ritual is interrupted, you’d be put to sleep too.” Your eyes scanned the pages that were filled with the scratch marks of creatures before you and recited things in a language that Sukuna couldn’t understand. With every word that left your mouth, he felt the presence of the boy would vanish without a trace.

“And, we’re done.”

Sukuna heard the soft growl of the demonic book as it closed itself and fell to the floor. He sat up and you stood as well.

“Can you put everything back for me, please?” You asked politely before hearing a standard “Yeah, whatever.” from him.

You went to the kitchen, as you had plans to bake that brownie mix you had got last week from the grocery store. As you did your hand motion to summon Gnaar, you noticed that the little demon didn’t appear. You frowned before doing it again.

Still, no imp assistant.

You sighed and left the kitchen to look for him manually but, of course, you were intercepted by Sukuna. His masculine arms linked themselves around your waist, trapping you in his grip so that you couldn’t move. He didn’t say a word and only lowered his head into the crook of your neck. You felt his lips place soft kisses on your flesh. The contact made you giggle. “Aw, Ryo.” You cooed, not being able to resist holding him close to you.

“Ow.” Suddenly, you jumped. Between his kisses, he tried using his teeth to mark your skin so that it would be impossible to wear anything with skin showing. He wanted everyone to know you were taken. Even if he weren’t around.

This was somewhat common. He did this to you in his true form as well…but it never hurt this badly. Your actions caused him to pull away. ‘Ow?’ He thought. Sukuna also realized that your aura was different. For a moment, it felt as though he had lost his mind. Whether you knew it or not, your physical form had cursed energy. It was the kind of energy that could suffocate him if he weren’t careful…now, it seems as though it’s hidden itself inside of your body.

No…it was gone.

It couldn’t be. How can a Goddess just disappear? This had to be an imposter pretending to be you. Of course, that made him angry. Only fools would toy with his emotions this way and feel as though they can get away with it.

“R-Ryo?” You raised an eyebrow when you felt his body stiffen. It took him a moment to reply, but when he did, he wasn’t himself.

“Don’t tell me I’ve been played with this entire time.”

You blinked. “Oh…” You pursed your lips. ‘I suppose it’s time I tell him.’

You sighed softly. “I’m not a copy of myself if that’s what you think. My powers have been somewhat…unstable since I’ve been resurrected. I guess they’re just gone completely…for now.” As you explained, his eyes grew wider and wider. “What? Why is that?” He replied.

“Those sorcerers who exercised me…I think they had help from Adam. Mortal powers typically do not affect me.” You told him. Your face held a subtle frown. He couldn’t tell why but it made him…feel bad. You’ve always been so high and mighty, never needing anyone else, not even him. And suddenly, one day, it was gone. Temporarily, mind you, but still gone, nonetheless.

But, seemingly out of nowhere, he felt a sense of pride. He remembered all the things you’d say to him. You loved referring to him as little because his power was nothing compared to yours but now…you were the little one. Well, littler than you already were.

“Looks like you have no choice but to depend on me.” His neutral face turned into a twisted grin. You knitted your eyebrows together. “Don’t get any ideas. This is serious. Adam could come at any time and you’re not nearly strong enough.”

“You worry too much about that scumbag…” Although he was concerned for you, there was no getting rid of his amused tone as he fully began to understand just how helpless you were in this situation. To be honest, he wasn’t worried about Adam, but he’d never tell you that.

“...but, it looks like you don’t have a choice. Meaning that from now on, you’ll be taking orders from me.”

At first, you expected Sukuna to refer to something vile…but his wants were rather simple. It was probably the most innocent thing ever that could come from him. He insisted he do everything for you that needed to be done—in exchange for kisses. It didn’t matter where you kissed him. His face, his neck, his mouth. Just kiss him, please. (minus the please part. He never says please.)

Although, you agreed to this, a lot of the things you engaged in didn’t require anything supernatural. Yes, Gnaar was your assistant but you could easily just bake by yourself. Not only that but you were a much better cook than him. There seemed to be no immediate threats that pursued you either. It had only been a few minutes but he was half expecting someone in Heaven to notice and try to eradicate you.

So, he would make up scenarios where you had no choice but to kiss him. He would take advantage of your size difference by holding things over your head so that you could reach them or he’d do something cheesy like hold you and refuse to let you go. No powers = no strength to resist him. And so, you would do it. Every time.

You’d puff out your adorable cheeks before stepping on your toes and placing your lips on the crook of his neck. When you’d kiss him on the mouth, he would grab your wrist and force you to stay for longer.

Sukuna wanted nothing more than to savor your lips. But unfortunately for you, your mouth was beginning to get dry and cracked from all the kissing. You needed to apply chapstick several times. Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna enjoyed this. He loved the taste of it, that faint fruity flavor coating your lips.

Although he was satisfied with kissing, he wanted more from you. Your husband didn’t follow the rules of his own game after some time. He just demanded things of you.

“Kiss me.” He would growl into your ear. You were trapped between him and the wall. You’re unable to break away from him.

“Kiss me until I’m sick of it.” Even as a mortal, your feminine energy was intoxicating. He couldn't decide what he liked more.

His face was peppered with kisses so much that you could see every mark you left behind. You gently grabbed either side of his face before kissing him one last time. You felt yourself being lifted from your thighs. “Ryo—?” You struggled to hold on as he lazily carried you through your house to the bed. He missed you so much and he didn’t even know. Memories from the past flooded his mind every time your lips touched his face. He loved you.

You.

You. ♡

Butterflies filled your belly when you felt the fabric of your clothing being torn. You wanted to scold him for such brash behavior but you were unable to. Sukuna shoved his head between your thighs, kissing and biting your soft flesh and making you hitch your breath. At the sound of your panties being ripped, you gasped. In an instant, you felt his breath hitting your exposed cunt. “Slow down!” You yelped, feeling his wet, hot muscle glide over your lower lips. Your hands tangled in his hair and you sank into your mattress. You began to remember all of your lewd times with him together.

As always, he was so patient and gentle. You remembered that he was always a good lover to you as well, putting your needs before his own. Making your needs his needs. Despite the popular opinion of someone like Sukuna, he was actually what restored your faith in men. At no point in your relationship with him did you feel ugly…you never felt used…you never felt like you weren’t good enough for him. Even when his tongue was inches deep inside of you, swirling around and causing so much pleasure that you couldn’t help feel pleased with him and wet his face with your juices.

He loved to go down on you for many reasons. The most obvious being that he thought you tasted good. It wasn’t enough to get him addicted, no, he was most addicted to the feeling of your lips on his.

“Ryo~!” You mewled, sending blood rushing to his cock. Your beautiful voice caused him to growl and become rougher by the second. Your essence dripped all over the bed and he knew by then you were ready. Sukuna was practically salivating at your gorgeous holes. It had been so long that he had forgotten how much he loved indulging in your godly flesh.

In an instant, he pulled out his cock. The tip was already shining from his leaking pre-cum. His hands roughly grabbed your waist. You gasped at the contact before you were pulled towards his pelvis.

“Slow.”

Normally, your soft, sweet voice becoming firm was a good indicator that he should probably listen to you or he’d risk being crushed into dust.

But, instead, he flashed you a demonic grin. His teeth were showing and it didn’t seem like he wanted to bend to your will.

“Slow, you say?” He repeated before chuckling darkly. “You’re not as big as you think you are anymore. No—now, you’re smaller than me.” His hands crept up your waist. The tips of his fingers ran up the sides of abdomen that it almost tickled. He held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world but the expression on his face looked like he wanted to devour you.

“You listen to me now and frankly, I think I want to go at my pace.” Sukuna thrusted lightly, the base of his cock rubbed between your folds. Your stomach burned with delight. It was like he knew his strength…

You rubbed your thighs together with anticipation, wrapping yourself around Sukuna and creating friction that made him want to cum. He grunted at your contact but he didn’t fold. He wanted to have his way with you.

“You know, while I’m at it, I might as well fuck those fat ass thighs.” He licked his dry lips as if he was looking at something delicious.

Sukuna effortlessly moved your legs so that they stayed closed around his dick. Both of your legs were thrown on his shoulder where he began thrusting into it.

The man could barely contain himself. He hadn’t felt you in so long. So much precum was leaking on your pelvis and belly. You were surprised that he hadn’t emptied his balls yet from how much of a mess he was making.

A heavy blush was set on your face. All you could do was lay there and allow him to use you…not that you didn’t want it. It has never crossed your mind how Sukuna would act towards you if you were born mortal, perhaps as a concubine, but you sorta liked that he wasn’t afraid of taking control.

You yelped as he picked up his pace. His pants began to fall as he was overtaken by lust. He wasn’t even inside of you and you needed to squeeze your eyes shut at the force he was hitting you.

“Fuck!”

His large hands gripped your thighs and his fingers sunk themselves to into your flesh. “Ryo…we have all night…” You tried to free yourself from his grasp but he was so strong.

“Hell yea—ugh! We do.” Sukuna groaned deeply before releasing himself all over you. His cum stained your stomach and your inner thighs. You were nearly horrified with how much he was able to produce. You sat up but was quickly shoved back down by him. “ ‘m not done.” he hissed, resting his heavy cock on your pelvis. Your belly filled with excitement as you felt his tip rub between your lips once more.

Without warning, Sukuna pushed his length into you, slowly. His grin intensified when he saw you squirm and buck your hips at the contact. You squeezed your eyes shut, unable to move from his grip at all. “Ryo—”

“Shut up.” His hand wrapped itself around either side of your cheeks, pushing them together and making your lips pucker up. His licked his own at the sight of your plush ones. They were chapped from the constant kissing he made you do, but they were still so good.

“M-Make me…” You could barely get it out with how firmly he held you. “Hm.” A hum escaped his mouth let you go. He spread your legs apart, briefly pulling out to climb on top of you. His lips let yours again, shoving his hot muscle into your mouth. He fucked into you nice and slow, reveling in every moan that you made. Occasionally, you’d break the kiss only for him to reattach himself to your neck. He didn’t care how much you fussed about bite marks or hickeys being impossible to hide…he marked you up however you wanted.

You held onto him in desperation, digging your nails into his back and clawing at him any chance you got. The pleasure was so overwhelming that he left you begging for him to cum. “Ryo, make me cum, p-please!” Your voice was breathless, and it made him want to give you what you wanted but that was no fun. The best part was overstimulating you until you cried for him to fill your womb with his seed.

“Nah, not—yet.” He grunted, his balls were audibly slapping your pussy. Your panties were so stretched from the activity and drenched in his cum, they were surely ruined now. Sukuna ignored your pleas and went harder. You could see his skin start to glisten with sweat. He was really holding back for the sake of your body. It must have been hard, feeling your tight walls close around him and he couldn’t even breed you as hard as he wanted to.

But you could tell that he was reaching his climax as well. He was always known for his stamina amongst his concubines in the Heien Era, but once you appeared, he was suddenly known to finish quicker than he’d imagined. Your energy was so feminine and alluring. It was like breathing fresh air in a world of pollution. When he met you, he never slept with a prostitute again. He only ever wanted you.

“Damn, is it getting hot or is it just me?” He muttered to himself but you heard him. In an instant, he sat up from you, ripping off Yuuji’s hoodie, tearing it in two. He threw it over to the side and you could see just how intensely he was feeling you. He continued to fuck into you becoming inticed by your moving breasts through your thin shirt. He saw your nipples poking through. What a sexy woman you were, wearing no bra near him. So, he tore your shirt too so that he could watch your breasts bounce along with his strokes.

“God, you’re beautiful—” His speech began to slur. His vision clouded with lust and he lowered your himself onto you. He spread your legs further apart, so fast and easily that your lace panties ripped as well. A montrous growl left his mouth as you felt breath hitch against your neck. Your nails broke his skin, causing blood to be drawn when you felt his teeth sink into the other side of your shoulder. “R-Ryomen!” You moaned as loud as you ever have before, releasing all over his cock and at the same time, he fucked his cum into your womb, breeding well just like he used to. Your moaning gave him the last bit of energy he needed. He kept growling and thrusting into you. Your legs went numb with pleasure and eventually you couldn’t keep your legs elevated anymore. Sukuna lost his strength, having a deep sigh and slumping onto you.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit. There was nothing but the sound of the both of you panting. Sukuna was heaving the most.

“I have to get cleaned up.” Your voice was small, throat strained from the loud moaning of his name. But, your husband didn’t budge. You felt his cum and your juices threatening to drip out your cunt around his cock but he held no sense of urgency. “Ryo!” You tried to nudge him but he didn’t allow you to move him. He just grunted in response anytime you called him.

He was still hard and throbbing inside of you.

“Please, I can’t do anymore…” You whined, “Hurry and move before the sheets get ruined.”

Your experience with him took your mind off your missing powers but when things were said and done, you couldn’t help but wonder what happened to them and when they would be coming back…

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x y/n #ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk ryomen #jjk imagines #jjk smut #jjk x reader

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year ago

Note

Lacai getting caught stealing the Queen's new panties and her forcing him to eat her pussy as a punishment??

[""Forcing him""- Oh no, the poor pervert. Fem reader.]

Lacai figures he could just be patient.

He really could afford to wait only a few minutes until you and King Vesper depart for this evening's festivities. Left vastly alone in the mansion with only his team of servants and the occasional toy roaming around, there'd be nothing to stop this sleazeball from dunking himself head first into the used laundry basket inside your bedchambers.

But that's not his goal.

Sure, he does want to keep pairs of your panties for himself. For his growing collection, his trophies, though it was never the driving reason for his actions. Lacai wants to get caught, he thrills in becoming sloppy, leaving traces, keeping you wondering who is doing such a disgusting thing.

The King probably already knows, if Lacai had to guess. But not you. It's taking a while for it to click in your head. Lacai supposes he's a bit mean for accusing some of the less subtle servants, taking advantage of the fact that he's the most dressed person in the mansion- Though it's more than a little fun to throw you off. There's playfulness in every imp, after all.

Still, knowing the risk, because of the risk, the fantasy of it all, Lacai is currently in the main bathroom. Digging through your laundry basket as expected. It was placed there specifically for your comfort, everyone knows the Lord of Lust walks everywhere he can bare as the day he was born- Save for the chains, of course.

You don't. Not yet at least. You still cling to the creature comforts and routines of the surface, like a safety blanket. Lacai knows it won't take that long before you give into the demonlord's temptations however, admiring Vesper for his patience as pink claws scrape off clothing items one by one, day by day. Point being, Lacai supposes he ought to make the most out of this adaptation period, before there are no more clothes to steal away at all...

The impcubus makes a cursory glance around the room, to the doorway, before stuffing wriggling gloved fingers into your used items. Naturally having a sharper sense of smell than humans, he's already being hit with all sorts of faint signals, mostly your natural scent and a hint of sweat. A womanly musk. Nothing out of sorts.

Lacai hums quietly as he searches, tail wagging, images rapidly forming in his mind. Once again, he defaults to picturing what you might do if you stumbled in on this, a scenario he has made and remade an obsessive amount of times. You're not a full on raging pervert yet, at least not openly -It's all a matter of inevitability here, the waiting game- So you're definitely going to punish him in some way or another.

Mmm punishment... Your punishment. His tail curls giddily.

Would you send him to the floor, put a heel to his chest, berate him for his depravity while making him kiss and lick wordless apologies up the length of your beautiful legs? Don't you know he can't help it? That he's only a lovelorn, desperate, debased vassal? A thrall to your every movement, dirty enough to sate himself with traces of you- Have you no pity, beneath that sugary smile, for your gross little servant?

Just as he starts getting into the zone of a specific scenario, something already stirring in his pants, Lacai snags something between his index and middle finger that has his eyes widening.

" Oh? "

The fantasy slips away, slinking into the creases between the tiles on the floor when Lacai extracts a remarkable pair of panties from the pile. The previous pairs he had fished are all but swiftly discarded, the apple of his eye now a very expensive-looking piece. Purple, featuring intricate and manually woven patterns on all sides, vaguely transparent as they swirl and dance on the skin of the wearer and featuring short frills on the sides.

Fucking jackpot!

The imp's breath catches.

He's seen this pair before on you. It's very very recent. In fact, the King gifted it to you when you started truly settling into your new life as the consort of Lust. Lacai knows because he saw this very pair on you once. Vesper was determined to spoil you extra hard that day, he wanted you to feel irresistible, and thus, your outfit had to reflect that. The imp will never forget the way you sauntered across the halls in those translucent pink robes, thin fabric melting into a beautiful lavender gradient. The head imp is unashamed to admit that he constantly tilted his head and lingered in certain places just to better see your delicious ass framed by those patterns. The way it rode up your hips and framed your pretty pussy was hypnotizing. Lacai wished he could have just whisked you away for a second, a moment for his eyes -And hopefully hands- Only, but the sovereign had your attention the whole day and his servant understood it wouldn't be wise to get in the way.

Lacai brings the cloth to his face, moaning in glee as traces of you tickle up his nostrils to his brain, fireworks set off, his pants suddenly a hindrance when his length wastes no time poking out its slit and tenting them. You've worn these recently, he can tell, humming at the high the cloth offers his depraved senses while his hand trails a path down his front, unceremoniously crammed down dark pants to fetch his cock, pump himself to the image of you leaving these out for him- The thought of you playing with yourself through the cloth and letting your wetness coat it before discarding it, knowing he's going to weasel his way to it eventually, makes him throb painfully.

The more he palms and squeezes at his own length, the less Lacai seems to care about anything around him, cursing under his breath as he considers simply blowing his load right then and there without so much as a quick escapade to more private settings no one's likely to find him in. A shiver charts its way down his spine, making his tail tense when he hunches with growing pleasure, eyes shut, his peak approaching embarrassingly fast for his type of fiend, and then-

" Bastard! "

The imp gasps hard enough to nearly inhale your panties in the process, choking, skeleton jumping out his skin as he swivels to face you.

It's not even that Lacai is ashamed. It's that he genuinely didn't hear you.

" So it was you this whole time?! "

The demon doesn't offer much of a reaction to your very evident rage, instead taking the time to study your new attire. Apparently, Vesper is ever closer to having you strut around stark naked, because the sparse red fabric crisscrossing your body in a manner much too reminiscent of shibari to be a mere coincidence can barely be considered clothing by any definition of the word.

Lacai gets distracted by the sight of your peeking nipples for long enough that you catch him off-guard yet again and viciously yank the panties off his hand. Ah, there goes his golden find.

While you evaluate the item, checking if he had done something to it, the servant can't stop the heated grin that tugs at his lips when he realizes he's getting exactly what he asked for- Caught red-handed. His tail rises in anticipation and Lacai licks his lips, still finding traces of your musk there. He's the picture of smooth arrogance when you glare back at him, which humorously only seems to make you boil more.

You're probably thinking about all the excuses he gave you, all the clever little misleading comments, adding two and two together right in front of him.

" You little- " You huff. " Are you even going to defend yourself, you sleazeball?! "

He throbs at the comment, visibly so, and you finally seem to register the hand that's still in his pants, and hasn't really stopped teasing him all this time. Fury and flustered shock war on your face, making the other all but tremble with delight.

" Mmn no. "

He had to fight the urge to laugh when you flinched at the nonchalant response. A silent pause passes where your hues crash against violet ones. And while any other concubus would have seen this as an aggressive challenge, brightened their eyes warningly, Lacai knows he can't meet his oblivious ruler's boldness. So, as a different way of defying you, he keeps stroking his cock, as if he didn't feel minimally threatened by your distaste. And he doesn't.

" Unbelievable! " You erupt. " I am- I'm your Queen! "

It's the first time Lacai has ever heard you refer to yourself with the correct title, causing his usual lidded gaze to actually widen in genuine soft happiness. You seem to taste and test the term on your own lips, trying to sound confident even when it's very clear the role still intimidates you.

He could shoot your bravado down with another disarming quip, but it might ruin the fun. The imp knows he has to tread a thin line between teasing and compliance, playing at your pace is the best option.

" Get on your knees. "

Oh. Oh?

The smirk he sported before turns into an outright grin, Lacai's cheeks painted a plum purple. The imp obeys far too fast, eagerly awaiting a new order, beaming at the possible perversions running through your mind. What will you have him do?

Instead, you roll your eyes at him. " Ugh, take your hand off your dick for two seconds. "

Easier said than done, you're such a massive fucking cocktease. It makes him stupid. Nevertheless, two gloved palms rest on his thighs politely, girth back to straining at its coverings.

Wordlessly, your arm lifts and an index finger points to the tiled floor in front of you. Lacai feels a wave of heat course through him while he crawls your way, slinking on the ground like the pathetic pervert he is at heart, head low, a curled tail betraying his enjoyment. His panting breaths condense on the floor.

" I don't want to hear a single smartass comment from you. " He hears more than sees a leg stretching forward. " Make it up to me. "

A quiet purring coo erupts from Lacai's throat, the smaller demon instantly letting greedy hands drift to your heel-clad foot. He grabs you like you're made of porcelain, pressing lingering kisses against bare skin, between the lace of your gorgeous heeled sandals, going as far as to boldly tug on the thin fabric from time to time. He trails a feverish and imploring path to your ankle, then scoots ever nearer to you as his journey up your leg truly begins. Because, as much as Lacai would like to spend all day kissing every part of you, he's clearly got a preference and it's right between your legs.

You shoot the imp a warning look when he tries to get close enough to rest his groin against your leg.

Unfortunately for you, it keeps slipping your mind that concubi aren't creatures whose eyes you can look into for too long without suffering consequences. There's a reason Lacai keeps seeking eye contact while he performs his "apologetic" display, a reason as to why his reverent kisses are becoming wetter. He may be an imp, but his influence is still felt in a human's body.

And you're starting to get decently wet.

When Lacai begins mouthing at the inside of your thigh, hands flirting up and down the length of your skin, eyes wantonly drifting to that scandalously sheer strip of cloth covering your pussy, he can no longer hold the mischief maker in him that begs to pipe up, to rile.

The imp leans up, moving to happily place a peck on your covered cunt when you grab his left horn and yank his head away.

" And who said you could do that, you audacious bastard? "

He gives you this drunken smile, full of adoration and desire, mirth glinting in those pretty eyes. " But my Queen, your need calls to me. I only want to please you. "

" My nee- "

" You're wet enough to taste. "

There. The shock that flashes through your face like you've just been slapped. Such short memory you have. Maybe you're under the impression only King Vesper can scent your arousal... Wrong. So very wrong. Every time you pass by a servant with desire in your heart, all of them get a pulse, an alarm- You're exigent in your lusts.

Another stare down ensues, and what a wonderful view it is to have you looming over him, hopelessly turned on yet disdainful, forever trapped between those two states, a visage of turmoil and begrudging adaptation- Already too tempted and ruined to return to the person you once were, but unable to fully accept it either. The sovereign should demand a painting of you with this exact expression, in Lacai's humble opinion.

" How dare you. "

It wasn't even a question.

The impcubus blinks lazily.

After far too long being restlessly still, your index -Such long and beautiful nails you're sporting today, he hopes you puncture him with them- Hurriedly swipes that velvet cloth aside, baring to the servant your need. Slick, plump, he can almost hear your heartbeat there as blood flow increases in the area.

" Fix your mess, you animal. "

And even if you hiss it at Lacai like it's some sort of dreadful punishment, the two of you know so much better already. You're practically doing him a favor, without outright admitting that perhaps it turns you on that he was the underwear thief all along.

" Of course, my Lady. " Looking at his face or not, you can hear the grin in those words.

Lacai doesn't take off his gloves, you're starting to think it might be his fetish, but it would also be lying to say that the sensation of such expensive spandex spreading your lips isn't somewhat exotic. His fingers are delicate but explorative, tracing the length of your entrance and nudging your clit, slow, deliberately too light to give you any real stimulus.

Even now, he has the nerve to test your patience.

Nearly growling at the head imp, you grab his onyx hair and make sure to glue his mouth to your cunt. He moans, giggling hornily.

" Make this quick. "

Who is he to deny a direct order from his superior?

Lacai moves with a fury, the depths of his yearning for you -Brewing from the first day- Unearthed viciously as he latches onto you without reservation. Oh he will make it fast, fast enough that you won't even have time to beg him for more before you're convulsing atop him.

The imp has to keep you steady with handfuls of your ass, taking the opportunity to encourage you to grind on his face when you're finally able to find your footing after the initial shock. In the back of his mind, he really hopes you can handle cumming in heels without tripping or breaking something.

Between the sucking of your poor clit, rolled by his tongue like a pearl and the shameless lapping of your hole, you can only gasp and twitch when he quickly manages to stuff most of his tongue inside you. Your nails claw against his scalp and Lacai's spine arches when you tip your head back to moan throatily, the type of sound he loves hearing from Vesper's throne while he's working nearby, but for him this time.

No words of praise are spared to him when you grunt and twist your hand on his scalp, forcing the demon's head to twist back uncomfortably just so he can shove even more of his drooling tongue up your pussy, his chin caked in your slick and the noises of him mercilessly drilling into you ringing out grossly.

The shuddering whines you let out have Lacai heating like a furnace, so he waits patiently until you start truly fucking his face with harsh rolls of your lush hips before letting one of his hands fall to the front of his pants, eagerly shoving everything out of the way to offer his neglected length some merciful attention. As soon as he starts moaning and panting, you shake your head.

" No- " You rush between heavy breaths. " No, you're not allowed! Put your hands away. "

He does. And you're smart enough to voice an addendum as soon as another appendage begins to move.

" Cheeky fuck- Hhn, no tail either. "

The imp is proud of you for thinking that far ahead. Leave it to a concubus to get creative with their restrictions. He makes a theatrical show of whimpering against your pulsing cunt, though never slows his movement, even as you start rhythmically clenching on him. The taste of you directly is so much more than he could ever hope to gleam with just used panties. He can understand why Vesper will eat you out ravenously, why he's constantly trying to keep your juicy pussy stuffed. The imp is drooling like a fucking mutt and he cares none even when a mix of his aphrodisiac saliva and your wetness drip down his face, tainting his collar.

" Y- You don't deserve this. "

Oh he really doesn't, but it's sweet of you to offer anyway.

Lacai makes his gratitude known by thrusting his whole face harder against you, mimicking what he'd really like to do in that moment, neglected dick throbbing pitifully as he tries to phantom the sensation of your insides around him. His tail might not be used for his pleasure under your decree, but he can still flirt it around the tight ring of your asshole, feeling the way you jolt in response.

When the servant senses you tightening and coiling in an approaching climax, he makes sure to look right into your eyes, not wanting to miss those gorgeous faces you make for a single second. Your pupils dilate and your mouth parts, this series of rushed cries escaping you as your sweet complexion twists once more to a depraved one befitting of your station as Queen of carnality.

In his awe, Lacai falters only for a fraction of a moment before making sure to do his job properly and milking every drop of your pleasure out, enjoying the good soaking you cover him in and sucking your oversensitive button even as you spasm and tremble with too much stimulus at once. White gloves fix your legs in place when your balance starts to falter and Lacai purrs with delight while you ride those last embers of pleasure on his debased complexion.

He doesn't want to wash his face ever again. Maybe he'll let one of the other imps lick your cum off him, whoever's lucky enough to catch him first...

The impcubus watches adoringly, ever still and obedient, while you rest idly on him, content to stay like this the whole day. Eventually, your tense grip on his hair alleviates, and you pet him quietly before shakily unmounting his face- The bottom of it glossy and viscous with the evidence of your enjoyment. Your "punishment".

Although Lacai looks ever smug and self-satisfied, the way his shoulders hunch and his thighs flex betrays reality, that he's bursting to get himself off already. That much you can see.

" Was my humble apology appropriate enough for you, my Queen? Or should I try harder? "

The soft smile on your face turns into a frown and he titters inwardly.

" Ugh, you're a lot more tolerable when your mouth is put to use. "

Fuck, it's like you're after his heart with those comments. The sudden twinkle in your eyes thrills him even more.

" As a matter of fact- " You suddenly seem to recall the panties bundled into a tight ball between your digits.

Unwrapping the fabric, you smile almost nefariously as you lean to harshly press it against Lacai's face, almost grinding it on him. He hasn't been this turned on in a long while.

" There. Finish yourself off. "

That dismissive tone should have brought an inkling of shame to Lacai, but it flew right over his head and horns.

The demon muffles a heated "Thank you" against the fabric, eyes rolling while he immediately, finally drops both hands to his cock.

Even in his own selfish pursuit of euphoria, the imp makes sure to spread his legs and ride his sweater up, giving you an unobstructed view of the lurid motions he makes. Hoping you realize that it's far from the first time that he's fucked his own fist and hands to the thought of you, the sight, the smell. Oh, if only you were just a little bit more attentive to your surroundings, you would have caught the numberless times Lacai got off just around the corner, in the same room as you, quietly.

You seem to appreciate the little degenerate show, this pleasantly amused expression framing your pretty features, eyes drifting from his glazed eyes to the outline of his filthy tongue cleaning your panties and the hump of his legs into his own grasp. It definitely doesn't take much for the impcubus to reach his peak, having been teasing himself since before you showed up.

Lacai makes sure you're watching him intently when he curls, holding his breath before belting out a pathetic noise that vibrates your palm and staining the floor with the surprising suddenness of his own trembling orgasm. He's too busy trying to prolong the high to notice the fact the one stray shot stains your foot, to which you grimace faintly, observing him idly while righting your outfit.

The cloth is finally removed from Lacai's face. " Thank you. " He speaks properly, sighing, cleaning his own lips and cheeks.

You're about to reply, when hurried heavy footsteps ring outside, giving you only enough time to turn before two polite knocks are heard.

" Vixen? Are you alright? " The King's voice sounds mildly confused.

The doors part and he pokes his head inside, bright wide eyes searching for you, then quickly taking in the picturesque state his Queen and main servant are in. A smile full of genuine adoration graces his dark lips as he realizes what you were both up to, though his expression shifts rapidly to something more serious.

" Come, my Lady. You can play with him more later, we have places to be and we're already getting late. "

Nodding bashfully, you fix your hair quickly while Vesper turns his attention to Lacai with a disappointed expression, the infernal gold on him clinking at every movement of his head tendril.

" Lacai my dear, I'd encourage your fuckery any other day, but I did warn you we would be busy today. Did I not? "

Said imp, covers himself half-heartedly. " I- I understand, forgive me S- "

Right as he's about to finish the sentence, you quickly shove those cute purple panties in his mouth, giggling and petting the gagged servant's already messy hair when he gawks.

" It's fine. " You wink, making the demonlord laugh loudly at your antics. " But if I find another pair of panties missing, I want you to actually punish him. "

Lacai watches you clean your foot on his pants and follow Vesper outside, the King's reply making him gulp dryly.

" Oh, I do promise. "

#Lacai oc #Vesper oc #demon oc #monster oc #terato #terato tag #monsterfucker #monster x human #monster boyfriend #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #not sfw #minors dni

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girlboypersonthingy · 8 months ago

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Hey! I saw you were starting to write for Blitzø so I’d love to request something! Could you do Blitzø x fem or gn reader in which reader comforts him after he has a very bad day and reassures him about his insecurities? That man needs to let himself cry in front of someone and also needs a hug! I love him sm I need more works where we can comfort him!! 🫶🏻

SORRY NOT SORRY I SKIPPED OVER LIKE 6 OTHER REQUESTS BC I NEED TO WRITE THIS ANGSTY BLITZ REQUEST IMMEDIATELY ITS TOO GOOD IM SO- 😳🥺 I just wanna hold him…enjoy, anon~

Notes: imp!reader, gn!reader, not an established relationship but mutual crushing and pining, reader works at IMP, angst to fluffy comfort

Blitzø x reader- Bad Day 💔

Blitz had the shittiest shit day ever and was ready to fall asleep and stay asleep forever. Between feeling excluded and lonely after seeing Millie and Moxxie’s displays of affection during dinner at Ozzie’s, then Fizz and Verosika giving him shit in front of the entire restaurant and Stolas being disgustingly clingy as always, Blitz felt himself breaking down, deteriorating from the inside out. It really stuck with him when he heard a restaurant patron shout, “YOU’RE SLEEPIN’ WITH AN IMP?” when referring to him and Stolas. What an embarrassment for both of them. He already has a very low self-esteem and that comment just solidified all his intrusive thoughts- no matter who he’s with, how successful he becomes, how much money he has, he’ll always be just an imp.

Blitzø stumbled through the front door of his apartment, rapidly proceeding to Loona’s room with a small smile. His precious girl always cheers him up, even when she’s in a bad mood…which is always. At the exact moment he sees the note on her door saying that she is out at a party, his smile drops to a disappointed frown. With the upper half of his body hunched over, his arms dangling limply by his sides, he trudges over to the couch and collapses on it with a huff.

This feeling was way too overwhelming- he felt suffocated by his clothes, pushed around and beaten by his own mind. He felt defeated and had no idea how to get himself out of this state of mind. He pulls out his phone to scroll through some pictures, maintaining his lonely frown the whole time. Blitz rolls his eyes at an old pic of him and Verosika. Then, he finds himself looking at a photo of his mom, sister and him, so happy, so close. After only seconds of looking into the picture, all his feelings unexpectedly erupt from him. The tears forced their way to the surface, gushing down his red and white cheeks. His chest felt like it was gonna cave in any second now, his lungs forgetting how to breath calmly.

“Fuck…” He chokes out while tossing his phone aside and sprawling out over the couch. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and overflowing, he couldn’t slow his breaths, he couldn’t even open his eyes they felt so swollen already. He had never felt so alone before. Laying on his stomach with his wet, snotty face in the pillows, he completely lets loose. A guttural, miserable, shaky moan leaves him as he weeps, his fists clenching around nothing in particular.

Just as he sucks in a quivering gasp of air, the sound of the front door opening caused him to hold his breath and stay completely still. “Blitz?” Fuck…of all people to walk in on him during his pathetic mental breakdown, why you? He’s literally praying that you’ll just go away but he knows you won’t, you’ll keep looking until you find him. He knows this, but he stays hidden and silent on the couch until you finally walk around and see him.

“Blitz? Whats wrong? What happened?” Stepping over to him quickly then kneeling on your knees beside him, he seems to retreat even further away. Blitz scoots into the couch more, turning his head away from you as he exhales then inhales and then holds it again. “Are you okay?” Obviously, he’s not okay but he nods his head anyways. “You can talk to me, Blitz.” Finally, he lets out all the air he was holding in. “I don’t wanna fucking talk right now.” He manages to mutter out between hiccups and sniffles. “Oh…okay.” Your voice a soft whisper now, Blitz again finds his hands balled up into tight fists, his fingers digging deeply into his palms. Dammit…he did mean to snap at you.

But instead of abandoning him, you shimmy your way onto the couch next to him, one arm coming to wrap around his torso as you lay your head against his back. You can hear everything with your ear to his back- his shaky breathing, his soft whimpers he’s trying so hard to hold back. “We don’t have to talk. We can just…lay here. I’m with you, okay?” You pull him closer, his back up against your stomach as you give him a gentle squeeze.

He tried so fucking hard to conceal it, to play it off in front of you, he really did but he lost it again, crumbling apart right in your arms. After hearing the sweet words of reassurance you offered him and the way your hand was now rubbing slowly across his heaving chest and the way you didn’t leave him…he can’t help but let it all out. Blitz softly shakes against you, making your heart ache for him. You’ve seen him in so many different moods and different situations, in so many silly costumes and you’ve heard some pretty vile things leave his mouth but you’ve never seen him like this. He was an absolute mess.

Slowly and carefully, you scoot closer, fitting your knees perfectly in the back of his. With a slight hum and one hand still rubbing his chest, you close your eyes as you rest against his back still. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Softly, you speak as Blitz exhales deeply once again. “Anything you need, just say the word.” Your hand stops the rubbing of his chest as you take a moment to squeeze him again.

“Don’t leave me…” With a crack in his voice, Blitz finally responds before curling in on himself even more. “I’m not going anywhere, promise.” As you nuzzle your cheek against his back. Your reply calms him, allowing his body to finally soften into your embrace. Together, you lay like this for a while, finding comfort in the sound of each other’s breathing.

Eventually, Blitz weakly turns himself around to reveal his somewhat improved mood. His eyes are puffy and glossy but the tears had stopped. His frown is a nasty one, one of the worst you’ve ever seen him wear but his eyes show a hint of something more positive as well- a look of hope? admiration? appreciation? Now facing you and looking at your face right there in front of him, hope, admiration and appreciation all swelled within him. He felt so lucky to have you, as an employee, as a friend… and maybe you two would be more one day. Maybe more…today? Right now?

“Do you think I’m… just a stupid imp? That I’ll always be seen as just an imp?” He can’t bring himself to look at you now, eyes scanning the ceiling instead. “Do you think I’m just a stupid imp? Is that all you see me as?” You immediately reply, watching as he starts to over analyze the situation. “No, no, of course not. You’re…fucking awesome.” His eyes land on your face for a second before they shift back to the ceiling. “So are you, boss.” Blitz scoffs lightly at your words, giving you a disapproving glare. “No! Really! I mean it, Blitz.” A soft sigh comes from him and he’s having a hard time believing your words.

“It’s gonna be okay.” You say with a light hearted tone and a small smile. Gently, teasingly you reach up to his face and use your thumbs to pull the corners of his mouth up into a smile. “Awww! There he is, there’s my guy!” As you pull your hands away, a smile finds your face as you notice his smile doesn’t fall, he’s smiling for real now. It’s not a big smile, honestly it’s barely a smile at all but it’s something. It’s better than the horrible frown he had on earlier.

“You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?” You ask cautiously, not wanting to upset him anymore. “I’m sure.” His reply is immediate and short, making you stay quiet after. Instead of using your voice, you go back to comforting him physically. With one hand on his cheek again, cupping his face this time, Blitz leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. Simultaneously, you both close your eyes and let out a deep breath.

As you let your thumb trace back and forth over the skin of his cheek, Blitz opens his eyes again and takes this chance to just stare down at you, at your eyelashes, at your skin and any little scars or blemishes that decorate it, at your lips as they part momentarily to suck in a breath. Without thinking it over, he kisses you. It’s quick, not necessarily soft because he came in kind of fast but it wasn’t hard or sloppy or anything like that. It was sort of a test of the waters for Blitz. He wanted much more than a measly peck from you but he didn’t want go all in on you and scare you off or weird you out.

To his surprise, before he can get a good look at your reaction, you’re chasing his face as he pulls away. As you lean forward, a shocked ‘mmm’ rumbles from Blitzø’s throat when your lips meet his again. This time, the kiss lasts longer. It remains sweet and simple, there’s no tongue, no spit or even much movement from your mouths at all. After locking lips for a few seconds, you part to finally look at each other. Your smiles mock each other’s, both growing bigger and bigger.

This isn’t at all how either of you imagined your first kiss together. Blitz had something more rough and dirty in mind but he’s beyond grateful that you still respect him after seeing him in such a lowly position. You’re not sure what comes over him as he stares at your lips but he confidently yanks you back into him, kissing you again.

With his mouth still covering most of your own, he mumbles, “Earlier, you said anything I need and now I need you.” The kiss is deepened by Blitz carefully moving his lips against yours, both your heads tilting to find the perfect position. His hands roam up and down your back at an extremely slow pace as his mouth follows along, moving in tandem with yours.

“Yes, sir.”

And the rest of the evening is spent gently coddling and lovingly appreciating each other at such a close range. The kissing lasts so long, that eventually you’re both just lazily pecking each other on the lips over and over and over again with closed eyes and relaxed limbs. It’s nice, it’s simple yet romantic and Blitz has never felt more safe or comfortable in his entire existence.

“And if you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re right, I won’t. But please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

#blitz helluva boss #blitzø x reader #blitz x reader #blitzo x reader #helluva blitzo #blitzø #blitzo #helluva boss blitz #helluva fanfiction #helluva boss fanfiction #helluva x reader #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss #hellaverse #blitzo helluva boss #blitzø helluva boss #blitzy #helluvaverse

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