#and charlie folds immediately

[midnight-mismanagement]

I think it would be funny if in season 2 it becomes a running gag of Vox sending spies to the hotel who just end up captured into the net of found family and friendship and become part of the clientele and Vox doesn’t get why he keeps losing contact with them (and assumes Alastor probably killed them) until one day Charlie comes to personally thank him for bringing her so many souls for rehabilitation and for believing in her cause and Vox just. Doesn’t know what is happening. And short circuits.

[yourstrulynobody]

I actually hyper-focused on this since like 7:00 in the morning (finished 7:00 at night; had taken several breaks because I wouldve went insane if I kept going without a stop /silly)

Based of "ECLIPSE IS SORRY!", moment at timestamp 6:14-7:04

"LYIAR DOES BACKGROUNDS ON AN ANIMATIC + THE ANIMATIC BEING LONGER THAN HIS USUAL ONES (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!!)?!1?1?1!!??"

[shih-coulda-had-it]

road house (2024) starring jake gyllenhaal is kinda meh with its soft points, unintentionally tragic with its thirst traps (HYDRATE THAT MAN…! PLEASE…!), and okay with the comedy (not as quippy as a whedonesque/MCU, but still a little off putting), but i did appreciate that every attempt to turn a stand-off into a gun fight resulted in gyllenhaal slapping the gun away in order to force a fist fight

[nellandvoid]

as i’m procrastinating some designs for the main players in diane’s dimension, here are some of her inter-dimensional gaggle of children!

around 6 years into her time as a dimensional traveler, diane set up a rest stop of sorts (that became her home) at the outskirts of the nightmare dimension for anyone who finds themselves suddenly forced out of their home dimension, or in urgent need of supplies

however, whenever a child finds themselves in that position, diane takes it upon herself to watch after and take care of them, even refusing to take bounties unless absolutely necessary, until they are old enough to decide for themselves if they want to stay or leave - these three are the ones who choose to stay

furthest left is Hg80, from a dimension where people are made out of elements from the periodic table (diane’s nickname for them is hattie)

in the middle is charlie simmons, an outcast from the finger dimension after being born with syndactyly (hence why he wears gloves)

and furthest right is velquus caballissi, from a dimension where the most intelligent species are dinosaur-horse-bug-adjacent, and who fell into the nightmare realm just after hatching

[gladiatorcunt]

father charlie asking you to call him father during sex is making me tweak

cw: 18+ mdni, fem reader, pussy EATING, let him be a little more openly crazy in this one, trope typical dub con and corruption kink but you're just as crazy so you think that you're doing the same thing to him, bible verses as dirty talk, inaccurate religious practices, religious slut shaming/degradation (?)

Your thighs are already shaking and he’s only kissing up your inner thighs, so cute, so sweet. “That’s it, little lamb, lie back for me.”

Your skirt is pushed up to pool around your hips, the wood of the pew you’re sitting on leaving an already uncomfortable ache in your hips.

Father Charlie kneels in front of you, right out in the middle of the open. Sure, it’s after hours and no one is on the premises but the two of you, but God is still here. Isn’t he? Watching in judgment as the man meant to be your spiritual leader sups at the fountain of your cunt.

He smiles when you start squirming and immediately slaps the inside of your thigh, harsh but genuine in its tough love, “Ah ah ah. I thought I told you to lie back and take your Father’s tongue in your pussy like a good girl.”

The candle’s flames flicker as you pant and stare down at him, he looks so handsome in the soft orange glow, like an angel. But isn’t it the demons who sneak down to earth and seduce unsuspecting whorish women into damnation? Father Charlie could never be a demon in your eyes though, and he knows this more than he knows every verse of the good word by heart.

He could desecrate you with a nail gun and you’d bend over and spread your legs, bleeding out on the beige carpet. But you’re his special girl, his darling wife to be and you know better than to do anything that would force his heavy hand.

“I-I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again.” You plead, the thought of losing his favor for even a second causes you genuine distress, "Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they are keeping watch over your souls, as those who will have to give an account.”

“I-i’m so sorry, who?” He mocks, pitching his voice higher and spitting on your clit. “I won’t do it again, who?”

“F-father. I’m so sorry, Father. I’ll be listen you, I swear.”

“You’re going to be a good girl for me anyway, like a real child of God should.”

Your soft sighs turn into even softer moans when he redoubles his efforts and leans forward to kiss your throbbing clit. A crucifix that tastes as electrifying as a star, he moans as your natural musk invades his senses. He’s so happy you’re on an off shaving day too, there’s just enough hair peeking through for some to come off on his tongue with every swipe.

Father Charlie moans into your puffy pussy, speaking in tongues into your folds and sliding his tongue in your sopping hole. He smacks his lips together when he pulls back to breathe, smiling up at you and licking away the sticky string of you that clings to his mouth.

“Maybe I should have this cunt for communion, draft my sermons laying in between your thighs. You should’ve never taken this job, little lamb. Now even God himself couldn’t keep us apart.”

A flash of light, and his nose bleeds onto your pubes. Then the vision’s gone, and Father Charlie’s burying himself back into the heaven that is your sloppy pussy.

You run your fingers through his hair in a frenzy, but you obediently sink into the shooting pain in your pelvis as you slump into the pew.

Father Charlie’s eyes glint like rubies as he eats you like a starving man, your water turning into wine as you flood his taste buds with your juices. His knees strain in the confines of his dark slacks, digging into the church floor, but his precious lamb is worth every twinge of pain. They’d be added bonuses, anyway. He hums a few lines of a hymn, the melodic vibrations give you tingles.

You squirt minutes later when you lock eyes and he nips at your clit, fantasizing about chewing it into a heart. He chastely pecks the bud through your orgasm and into overstimulation, which is always his goal. Father Charlie’s favorite game is to make you come for every sin you confess to in your last confessional.

“You’ve been eating what I’ve recommended, good, you’re fattening up really nicely, dear.” He comments with a quick squeeze to your mound, laughing at your exhaustion.

One down, six to go. You’re blessed with a guilty conscience.

“Go in peace.”

[lucydixon]

Julia's Best Friend Headcanons

Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Blog Navigation A/N: I think I'm gonna follow this up with a one-shot... or two, idk.

Summary: Headcanons for being Julia's bestie, and developing a flirty relationship full of tension with her older brother.

The first time you came by the Campbell house, Erik wasn’t home. You’d met Julia at the local Community college, and the two of you had immediately hit it off.

When she learned, a few weeks into your friendship, that you had no family in the area, she insisted on having you over for the First Campbell Barbeque of the season. 

The Campbell family welcomed you with open arms, so generous and caring that it made you a little uncomfortable at first. You weren’t close with your family, and you certainly weren’t used to being hugged by strangers when you introduced yourself to them. 

An hour in, you were sipping on a margarita and playing board games with Julia, her cousin Charlie, and her younger brother, Bobby, who reminded you of a little puppy. He was just so bright-eyed and innocent, despite being in his senior year of high school, and it was adorable. 

You fit right in, and it didn’t take long for Julia to start bringing you home with her all the time. 

The first time you saw Erik, you were draped across the basement couch, watching a movie with Julia and Bobby. The two of you locked eyes the second he walked into the room, clutching a beer bottle. He was about to take a sip, but it was frozen halfway to his mouth. 

Your head cocked slightly to the side and a half smirk tugged at your lips. “Jules, you didn’t tell me your brother was hot.” You thought he might get flustered. You’d hoped for it, even. But he just matched your energy and asked his sister, “Who’s the babe?”.

And so, the game began. 

Every time you and Erik crossed paths in the weeks that followed. You made flirty remarks and batted your lashes at him, smiling coyly. Julia always rolled her eyes, so you both figured it was okay.

You’d call him ‘old man’, and he’d call you ‘kid’ as if there wasn’t just a four-year difference between your twenty-three and twenty-seven. Neither of you had made any kind of move. It was just harmless flirting. Right?

The next time the Campbell siblings had a movie night, Erik sat right next to you with a sly little smirk, facing forward. He was so close that you were almost touching. So close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. 

You weren’t about to lean into him, and he wasn’t about to lean into you either. Neither of you was willing to be the one who ‘caved’ when it came to physical contact, which just turned into a relentless back and forth between the two of you. You’d almost brush up against him in the hallway, and he’d hover when you were brushing your teeth on nights you slept over. 

It wound up being both of you that folded at the same time. The fleeting glances had started to linger, and the urge to make contact was growing overwhelming for both of you. It had been a stupid movie, something Bobby had been watching, and the rest of you sat down to join him. It was about a girl sneaking around with her best friend's brother, and it just hit a little too close to home. 

Bobby and Julia had both fallen asleep, and you and Erik had exchanged a look. A clear look of intention. You’d both gotten up without exchanging a word and gone into Erik’s room downstairs. 

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics Gif Made by @jst2guyz

[rafesangelita]

Toxic!Rafe and toxic!reader, where they’re fighting because he wants to go out to a strip bar with Topper and Kelce which reader hates (she thinks they encourage his bad behavior) after she told him no. so when reader goes on insta to look at Rafes story and sees he lied and went anyways after seeing a pic of him in the sniffers row at the bar, she gets all crazy and starts responding to the story with full paragraphs 😭 and so when he starts replying she blocks him mid argument, and he goes home and yells at her until they get all lovey dovey again 🥰 (sorry this is long)

warnings: toxic relationship (?), slight humor, cussing, lying, crying, shouting, arguing, mentions of sex, a little plot twist at the end

wc: 2.0k

“..i don’t know about that, man. y/n has a bitch fit everytime i go somewhere without her, i highly doubt she’d be okay with me going there of all places.” you stood outside your bedroom door, rolling your eyes at the sound of topper’s voice. “who cares what she says? she’s not your fuckin’ mommy, bro.” you suppressed a laugh, knowing rafe has called you ‘mommy’ a numerous amount of times. your boyfriend sighed, staying silent for a moment. “look, i’ll ask her alright? if she says no then i ain’t going.” you smiled to yourself, walking into the room with a fresh stack of t-shirts in your hands.

“here she is now, i’ll call you back.” you placed the folded laundry on top of the dresser. “tell the spawn of satan herself we say hello!” kelce shouted in the background. “aww is that dumb and dumber on the phone? hey, guys!” rafe shook his head, a laugh tumbling out of his throat. he hung up the call, getting up to wrap his arms around your waist. you leaned into him, breathing in his cologne as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “listen, uh, topper and kelce are inviting me out tonight, ‘wanted to know if i can join them..” you arched a brow, turning around in his hold.

“and where do y’all plan on going?” rafe cleared his throat awkwardly. “well.. you know how the guys are, they always wanna go to some new place..” he trailed off, clearly stalling as much as he could. “just say it, rafe.” he swallowed nervously. “a strip club.” suddenly his hands felt tense on your skin, and he couldn’t hold your stare. “a strip club?” you repeated, pulling away from him. “that’s cute, but no.” rafe tongued the inside of his cheek, immediately taking out his phone.

[4:30 PM] to: topper, kelce: i’m in, pick me up at nine.

“what are you doing?” you eyed him as he brought the phone up to his ear, walking around to the other side of the bed. “m’telling them i can’t go, because you’re gonna be all pissed off if i do.” you scoffed, eyeing him carefully. rafe cursed under his breath, praying to god you couldn’t tell he wasn’t actually calling anyone. “hey, bro. i can’t go, it’s a hard no.” he scratched the back of his neck. “yeah, i know. maybe another time- wait, where?” rafe stopped pacing, nodding along to his own imagination. “pizza and beer? that sounds good. nine o’clock? alright i’ll see y’all then.” he shrugged as he pretended to hang up.

“alright, no strip club, but charlie’s pizza instead, is that alright?” you nodded. “that’s fine, but you better text me.” he jumped up, pulling you into a hug that ended with you two falling in bed. “i mean it rafe, i want pizza pictures and everything!” he showered you with kisses, taking his time when he got to your lips. you two stayed like that for a few minutes, making out softly before you pulled away. “you should start getting ready before i get too horny, ‘cause then i really won’t let you go anywhere.” you ran your thumb over his bottom lip, sighing when he got up. “good call.” he laughed, getting an outfit ready for tonight.

nine o’clock rolled around faster than you wanted it to, and sure enough topper and kelce were outside honking like maniacs once they pulled up. “i love you, baby, i’m gonna text you in a bit.” you smiled, watching him holler all the way down to where topper and kelce practically tackled him. “we promise to have him home no later than one, mommy dearest!” you gave kelce the middle finger, shutting the door once rafe blew you a kiss. now that you had the house to yourself you figured you’d shower and unwind, maybe finish the book you had been reading. all was well until you glanced at the time on your phone. 10:45 PM, and still no word from rafe.

you opened instagram, spotting the green circle around your boyfriend’s profile picture, indicating he had posted on his close friends. you clicked on it, your heart dropping at the video of rafe throwing money at a stripper’s ass. “front row seats, baby!” he cheered. just as you thought it couldn’t get any worse, the next story was a photo of a blonde sitting in rafe’s lap, topless and smiling from ear to ear. “this motherfucker..” you closed the app, deciding you saw enough before opening you and rafe’s text thread on imessage.

[10:55 PM] - i don’t know what’s funnier; the fact that you had a whole conversation with yourself in front of me to make it sound like you were just getting pizza and beer with your dickhead friends, or forgetting to take me off your close friends list when you want to post yourself at some sleazy ass strip club. you’re a fucking joke.

rafe had never sobered up so fast in his life, all the blood draining from his face when he read your message. “fuck!” he cursed at himself, his head resting in his hands.

[11:10 PM] my <333: baby i promise i’ll explain everything, i’m telling the guys to take me home right now.

[11:15 PM] - there’s nothing you could say that’ll ‘explain’ what the fuck you did. you sat there in my face and kissed me and reassured me when you were getting your way all along. can you even comprehend how fucked up that is? you made me look stupid in front of your friends who already don’t like me. AND THE TOPLESS PICTURE???? ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE???? if i posted a picture with my tits all in jj’s face, how would you feel? we both know he’s one phone call away if i really wanted him.

rafe’s blood was boiling after he read your message, knowing that you could leave him and have someone as desperate and lovesick as jj replace him in a heartbeat. “bro don’t sweat it, man. she’ll get over it.” topper slurred, entering figure eight again. “shut the fuck up, you don’t know the first thing about being in a relationship.” rafe shot back, clenching his fists when the message he tried to send turned green. topper didn’t respond, the rest of the ride home being dead silent.

rafe didn’t even say bye to kelce or topper when they arrived at tanneyhill, instead he rushed inside, eyes immediately falling to you resting on the couch. you were wearing your pink, fluffy robe, rollers adorning your hair while you were typing something on your ipad. “babe-” rafe shut the door, falling to his knees before you. “don’t get near me. you probably smell disgusting.” rafe’s jaw ticked, his patience already running low. “i’m so fucking sorry, y/n. i shouldn’t have lied to you, baby. i promise i’ll never do that again.” you finally looked at him, his bangs falling in his face.

“i know,” you sighed, “you don’t have to worry about me doing anything either.” you got up, attempting to walk past him before he grabbed your leg. “what are you talking about?” you knew rafe well enough to know when he was getting angry, and the way he was looking at you right now only confirmed your suspicions. “you don’t get to do what you did and think it’s all going to be fine and dandy with an apology, rafe. i’m leaving for my parents tomorrow, and don’t ask me when i’m coming back because i don’t know. i don’t think i can live with a liar.” you shoved him away, only making him grab you again, this time throwing you down on the couch.

“you don’t think you could live with a liar?” he narrowed his eyes, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. “has it ever occurred to you that i wouldn’t have to lie to you if you would just not freak the fuck out everytime i want to go out and have fun?” you couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “you’re one to talk!” you screamed in his face, making him stand up. you followed suit, refusing to let him make you feel powerless. “you wanna act like you’re trapped here? fine! play the victim, but don’t forget everything you do to keep me from going out too.” you were pacing back and forth now, running your fingers through your hair.

“you literally slashed my friend’s tires to keep me from going to her birthday party, and all for what? because you found out other guys were going to be there?” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “i paid for the damages, y/n…” he groaned. “so?! it’s the principal! you do the most when it comes to me wanting to go somewhere, but me telling you not to go to a literal strip club is where you draw the line?? fuck you!” you started making your way upstairs, rafe right on your tail as you did so.

“fuck me?! i’m the one who takes care of you! there’s nothing in this world that you want and don’t have! i take you on regular vacations, i take you out damn near everyday, i keep you in all the newest shit, i pay for you and all your friend’s beauty appointments so that y’all could have a girl’s day twice a month, you just have no fucking clue!” he shouted, making you stop in your tracks. you looked up at him with tears in your eyes, breaking his heart in two.

“and what about everything i do for you?” you let out a shaky breath. “i’m what makes this house a home. i wear the clothes you want me to wear, i eat the food you want me to eat, i talk the way you want me to talk. i’m here when all else fails. i’m the one who holds you and comforts you when things get hard for you. i’m the one who makes sure you never feel alone, ‘makes sure you don’t go through anything alone. i do everything you say. on the days you work long and hard, i’m right here waiting for you with my legs open. on the days that you’re particularly tired, i’ll be on my knees, i’ll ride you and do all the work, and i’ll do everything happily because i love you.” rafe was crying with you by the time you finished speaking, both of you standing in the hallway.

“i get up at the ass crack of dawn and doll myself up everyday because i want to look good for you, i want to please you with everything i do. when we go to the country club, i speak of you in the highest regards, and i do it because i want everyone to know that i respect you. i do all of this, and i do it all without the commitment of having a fucking ring on my finger. if that doesn’t speak volumes for you, then i don’t know what does.” you walked inside your shared bedroom, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. he dropped to his knees once again, hugging your waist like you’d disappear if he let go. “we need each other. i need you.” he cried. you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him up off the floor.

“i love you, y/n. please, you can’t leave.” you cupped his face. “i haven’t seen my parents in almost six months, rafe. i have to..” he nodded slowly, taking your hand in his. “then we’ll go together. ‘tell them we have a special announcement.” you watched him with a confused expression as he went to grab a small box out the bottom drawer of the bedside table. “rafe!” you gasped, hands flying up to cover your mouth. “i’ve had this for a while now, i don’t know what i was waiting for, but i want to do this now.” he opened the box, the biggest diamond you’ve ever seen lighting up your eyes.

“i know we have to work on some things, but there’s no one else i’d rather do this with.” you gazed into his eyes, a small smile gracing your lips. “okay, let’s do it.”

[lumosflairr]

I just bought a letterman jacket that kinda looks like Gryffindor and it got me thinking about how the Weasley boys would react to seeing you wearing something of theirs?

HOW THE WEASLEY BOYS WOULD REACT TO YOU STEALING THEIR CLOTHES.

characters included: Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Bill Weasley, Percy Weasley

wc: 877

thank you for your request❤️

Fred nearly trips over his own feet the moment he sees you walk into the room wearing one of his jumpers. It’s slouchy and oversized on you, the sleeves covering your hands, and it looks so natural he could swear it was made for you. He smirks, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back and takes you in. “Well, don’t you look absolutely criminal,” he says with a cocked brow. “Wearing my jumper like that and not even asking? You trying to drive me mad, love?” There’s a glint in his eye, teasing but clearly captivated. He walks over slowly, tugs the collar just a bit with his fingers. “I want it back, but I’d rather see you steal it again tomorrow.”

George doesn’t say a word at first. He just blinks at you from across the Gryffindor common room, his mouth hanging slightly open as you laugh at something and curl up on the couch in his hoodie. It’s not just any hoodie—it’s the one he always wears during late-night invention sprees, and seeing it on you almost knocks the wind out of him. He strolls over and sits beside you, bumping your shoulder lightly. “That’s mine, y’know,” he says, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But it looks loads better on you.” He lets his fingers play with the cuff of the sleeve as you sip your tea. “Honestly, I’d let you keep every jumper I own if it means I get to see you like this more often.”

Ron walks into the Burrow’s kitchen and just stops. You’re at the counter, back turned, in his worn Chudley Cannons jumper—the one with a tiny tear near the hem and the faded lettering. His ears go red immediately. “Blimey,” he mutters, completely forgetting what he came in for. When you turn around and smile at him, his heart does an actual somersault. “You’re wearing my jumper,” he says, dumbly, then rubs the back of his neck like he’s trying to physically force the blush down. “I mean—not that I mind. Just… looks nice. You look really nice.” He shuffles closer, clearing his throat. “You can, um, keep it if you want. Or wear it. Like. Often.”

Charlie catches you in his sweatshirt one cool morning when he returns from the yard, still smelling of smoke and leather. It’s a sanctuary-issued piece, faded from sun and ash, and you’re sitting on the porch swing reading like you’ve always belonged there. He walks up quietly, rests a hand on the back of your chair and leans in with a lazy smile. “Borrowed something, did you?” he says, voice low and rough from the early air. You glance up with a grin, and he chuckles. “Keep it, sweetheart. Looks better on you anyway. Plus, I like knowing something of mine’s wrapped around you when I’m not.” He plants a kiss to the top of your head before heading inside, his heart a little lighter than it was before.

Bill notices right away when you come out in one of his favorite band t-shirts—soft, worn, and obviously not meant for you but fitting in that perfect, relaxed kind of way. He gives you one slow, appreciative look, eyes lighting up like he’s just spotted treasure. “Well, hello there,” he says, striding over. “Is that my shirt? Because if it is, I might just need to propose on the spot.” He slides his arms around your waist and smiles against your cheek. “Something about you in my clothes does dangerous things to me, you know. You’re lucky I’ve got some self-control. Barely.”

Percy is absolutely stunned when he sees you in one of his Oxford shirts, clearly plucked from his neatly folded collection. It’s buttoned messily, half tucked in, and you’re curled up with a book on his couch like you belong there. He adjusts his glasses, clears his throat three times, then finally says, “That’s mine. That shirt—it’s one of my best.” But his voice isn’t annoyed, just surprised. “Though… I suppose it’s alright. You look very—uh, scholarly. Smart. Elegant.” He sits beside you awkwardly, his hand brushing yours as he adds quietly, “It’s nice. I like it. You should borrow my things more often.”

[a-hazbin-reader]

Hey did you get my ask/request of Alastor and Wife!reader having an argument and Alastor says something horrible to her leaving him to have to make up for it?

I did, I just have a lot of stuff in my inbox

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being in the DOGHOUSE

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor doesn't mind fighting, likes to bicker with and irritate those around him as some strange show of dominance

But his wife is an exception, he hates fighting with his wife and goes to great lengths to avoid it

Despite his efforts, you two do still fight from time to time and he hates it, he tries so hard to reign in that cruel part of him

He doesn't really even remember what started the fight, probably something dangerous he did that upset you

Something like the Adam stunt

And he probably tried to brush it off, his pride not letting him admit that your fears were warranted

You were understandably getting worked up over his dismissal, and he was getting irritated that you wouldn't just drop it

Everyone else in the hotel had scattered and hidden the moment you two started to uncharacteristically raise your voices at each other

Angel had to grab Niffy to stop her from watching the entire argument play out

He just doesn't want to scare you with the idea of losing him, he wants to be your strong, invincible husband

It makes him uncomfortable that you see beyond the powerful overlord demon and instead zero in on the man beneath it all

"Darling, I would understand your fears if I hadn't come back to you in one piece, but I'm here. With you. Perfectly fine."

You could rip your hair out due to frustration, almost in tears, how could he not understand how you felt?

"Alastor! That's not the point! You can't be so reckless! It's not just you that you have to worry about anymore! You have a wife! You have to live and be safe for me!"

He fears a pang of anger over being told what to do, rage and irritation over the unintentional reminder of his failure to win

Which makes his mind wander to his deal, his fucking leash

The words are out of his mouth before he even realizes what he's saying

"If I knew that everything I do had to be approved by you then, I would've rethought this whole marriage ordeal."

Alastor regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, his ears folding back at the sight of your hurt expression

Your eyes have tears in them but you're doing your best to hold them in, turning on your heel to leave the room

"Wait-Darling, I didn't-"

"Just...give me some space, Alastor."

He regrets it so much, watching you walk away from him when he should be begging for forgiveness

He hates seeing you so upset but he hates being the reason for it even more

Alastor tries to give you the space you asked for, but it's difficult when all he wants to do is make up with you already

But he also doesn't want to actually talk about what happened

So he breaks fairly easily when he sees you again, coming up behind you and hugging you

Only to be shrugged off when he goes for a small kiss, left with a sinking feeling in his stomach

"I said to give me space, I'm not ready to talk to you yet."

Normally, Alastor loves it when you're cruel and cold, finds it a little hot, but when it's aimed at him? He hates it so fucking much

Literally looks like a kicked puppy when you walk away from him again, Charlie and Vaggie looking at anything but him

"You know what, Charlie? I do see that crack in the wall!"

He tries again later, sitting next to you and trying to wrap an arm around your shoulders while the radio bursts to life with a love song

Only to be rewarded with an ill hidden sniffle and you immediately getting up to walk away from him

"If you're not going to apologize and have a genuine conversation with me then don't even bother."

It's driving Alastor crazy not being able to be with you, to not be able to properly make up with you

But he still doesn't want to admit he messed up or have that uncomfortable conversation with you

So he tries lavish gifts and other romantic gestures that all get rejected or given to Niffty to do whatever she wants with them

"Yay!! I'm going to poison these and give them to the mother bugs!!"

Okay...maybe Angel should have these...

Alastor is starting to understand that he can't just gloss over this one

He understands it a little more later that night when you go to bed without him, and he's left too nervous to follow after you

Several hours into the night, the guilt eats at him and he breaks, sneaking into the bedroom

You're awake, your eyes red rimmed from crying but you manage to give him a glare before turning your back to him

"Darling, I believe I owe you an apology..."

The way your tense body relaxes is all he needs, crawling into bed with you and pulling you to his chest

It's a difficult pill for him to swallow, so it's easier for him to have these conversations with you like this

He doesn't want you to see his weakness even when he's laying it out for you

Luckily, Alastor is good with his words and you're willing to listen now that an apology is on the table

It's a long conversation that leaves you both sleepless and emotional in each other's arms

But things are settled and Alastor is forgiven, happy to be back in your good graces

He tried to be strong and hold himself back, he really did... but being without the warmth of your love was torture for him

It was a rough couple of hours for him

HA WHIPPED

"Angel, shut the fuck up before you get yourself killed!"

He's extra clingy and romantic with you for DAYS afterwards, making everyone else at the hotel practically nauseous

Except for Charlie, of course, she loves it

He's just so relieved that you've forgiven him, still disgusted with himself for even saying what he said

Asks you for yet another kiss that morning before Husk finally walks away, annoyed by Alastor's neediness

You don't mind your husband's clingy antics, enjoying the extra attention he's giving you

You should get mad at him more often

[getmeoutofhell]

Poly! Ghostface x reader NSFW headcanons

WARNINGS: this contains all nsfw content, if uncomfortable leave now for your protection!! there will be explicit language and actions. blood play, and others you’re just gonna have to read to find out!!

a/n: well, i thought why not make this?? since no one else has, it’s my opportunity. don’t forget to leave feedback, enjoy reading!! 💕

Main Headcanons:

with these 6 men, your orgasms are out the roof!!! they work together (most of the time) to make sure you have to best time of your live in bed. they leave hickeys, bite marks, bruises, they like to leave some of their love on you.

with the 6 of them, the make sure you don’t even think about running away. they will hold you down, tie you up, anything they need. mickey is the main one that holds you down, since he’s one of the strongest, he always has you going insane. they also have to train ethan and charlie to make sure they’re pleasuring you correctly.

not to mention they have you in all kind of positions. your back will always be sore the next day. but don’t worry, they will give you back massages afterwards!! “seems like our little slut is needy today hmm? what should we do boys?” you beg and plead for them to give you what you want, but most of the time that doesn’t even work.

roman is definitely the lead singer. he’s always the one in charge the most and the one who tells who what to do. he’s a director after all, which means he likes to make his own movies with you. 😉 very rarely will they’ll be arguments about the place they will be in. you don’t mind it tho, you like that there’s people fighting over you. it makes you love them even more than you already do.

if you wear something revealing and are about to head out, they immediately stop you in your tracks before you can even get to the door. “where you think you going dressed like that missy/mister?” mickey says, causing the other boys to come over. “you’re not going out with that on. unless one of us goes with you.” billy stated. you roll your eyes as you start to walk out the door. only to be stopped in your tracks by charlie. “sorry babe, but rules are rules.” 🤭

ethan is the most shy with you in bed. he always gets hard just from looking at you and your body. his cock is very sensitive as well. whenever you give him head, he never last long. it’s not like he can help it. the other boys had to train and help him last longer. it wasn’t easy. you find the whole thing cute tho.

“guys leave my baby ethan alone, i like that he’s so shy and sensitive.” you tell them. you see ethan blush next to you, causing you to get wet/hard. him and charlie like to lay you down and give you a kiss attack, but when they’re horny it’s 10x worse. hickeys will be every fucking where and there’s nothing you can do about it. orgasm denial is mostly when you don’t behave or follow their rules. “no slut, you don’t get to cum, you didn’t behave.”

they have a pretty big blood kink!! small nicks and cuts are bound to happen. now, if you don’t want that, tell them asap or else you’re gonna be screwed. when they cut you the lick up the blood left behind. “you taste so good sweet girl.” when they lick up your body it’s makes you so fucking wet and horny, it’s hard to contain yourself.

half of them are packing!! like stu, mickey, & roman are definitely packing a bundle down there!! the others are average size, which is perfectly fine with you because it’s how you use it, not what it looks like (🤫) but ethan and charlie have some insecurities about their size, making you have one on one conversations with them about how that doesn’t matter to you. over some time they get over it, and get more comfortable showing you. they make you choke, groan, moan, and hell anything with pleasure they make you feel it.

Female Reader Headcanons:

these boys and your pussy are intertwined together. at least once a day someone has their hand in your pants, playing with your folds or clit. they think your pussy is a gift from the gifs or something, which means they worship it. they love when your pussy is so soaked that it leave a stain on the blanket, it’s makes them so fucking hard and makes them fuck you even more crazy.

mickey will hold your legs open as stu will devour your pussy like it’s the last meal. “c-can’t take it anymore, i’m gonna cum again mm…” “no no, you’re not done until i say baby.” it’s a whole riot for you and your poor pussy. your folds are drenched as your eyes get heavy. your body can only stand so much at once. “take this fucking dick slut, that’s it…good girl.”

period sex is also a major thing!! they don’t care about getting their dick bloody at all, just as long as it’s inside of you. another thing they don’t care about, is hair, they don’t mind a little hair down there, it doesn’t stop them from fucking the shit out of you now does it?? ;) they suck on your tittes and lick up your spine, like you’re some sort of prey of theirs. if you have a bigger chest size, they will take the opportunity to fuck your tits. if not, that’s okay they still show love to you and your body!!

you can tell when the boys are very needy. they won’t leave your side. “yes charlie. do you need something?” he makes puppy eyes. “can i- eat your pussy? it’s okay if not but…” you just kiss him and sex insures. he loves when you ride him, choke him even. he’s a slut in your eyes. a good slut that you like to throw around, a good boy he is indeed. ethan is not far off tbh, he’s just a whore as charlie is if not more.

“one of y’all come eat this pussy.” you can understand how fast they all got up to come to you. “y’all are such good boys for me.” you love to take opportunities to tease them to death, god you love it. but don’t get me wrong, they tease you as well. your clit gets so swollen and sore after their fun time with you. how can i forget, the vibrations!?! yeah good lunch because you’ll have a vibratior in you almost everyday.

[selineram3421]

*friend comes up with something*

Royally Pissed

Part 1

Prologue

Alastor X Morningstar Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ Italics=thoughts, implied/suggestive *cough* bedroom name ⚠

In all honesty, Alastor didn't know why he did it but it just happened.

He pulled the small blonde out of the way, holding them close to his chest as a large dust cloud came from the now broken chandelier.

Mostly everyone in the room coughed as they tried to clear the dust from themselves.

"Are you hurt?", he asked them, noticing that the top of their head barely reached his chin.

How small.

"I'm fine.", they turned away to cough. "That was a lot of dust.."

Before he could ask for their name again, they were suddenly pulled away by none other than the King, Lucifer.

"ALRIGHT THEN!", he said before pulling them towards Charlie.

Haha!

The blonde slid over to his daughter, bringing along his other child as he began.

Looks like you could use some help

From the big boss of Hell himself

He held Charlie close before pushing her to see him sitting on a throne with fire rising behind it.

Check out daddy's glowing reviews on Yelp

He sang, scrolling on his hellphone to show her the reviews.

(Five star! Flawless! Greater than great!)

Three puppets said one after the other.

Oh, with the punch of a pentagram

A wap-bam-boom! Alakazam!

Alastor rolled his eyes as he watched on, but then he was suddenly pouring wine into a glass.

Who needs a busboy, now that you've got the chef?

The deer demon was pulled by the waist and landed in a pan, ears folded back as he angrily smiled at the King who grinned evily before he was flipped onto his front.

(Wow~)

I'm going to kill him.. Alastor thought before lifting himself up.

.

You were pulled into song and at the moment, were now sitting at a dinner table with your sister as your father was dressed like a server, hand about to reveal a meal.

Michelin-tasting menu

He lifted up the silver cloche, revealing a a "decapitated" Alastor, then some tentacles with red eyeballs, and finally a cake with him holding Alastor's head.

Free à la catre!

Oook.. You cringed. Dad doesn't like Alastor.

I'll rig the game for you because I'm the ref!

He started focusing more on Charlie and started to make more things appear.

Champagne fountains, caviar mountains, that's just the start~!

And then Alastor jumped in with blacklight, his backgrounds looking vibrant.

Who's been here since day one?

The deer demon pushed your father away, making him spin out of song.

Who's been faithful as a nun?

He was suddenly dressed as a nun, holding his hands in a praying position.

Much like how your father changed his scenes quickly, so did Alastor. You were having some trouble keeping up with it. His appearance looking slightly different with the lighting, his irises now green.

I'm truly honored that we've built such a bond

"Aw.", Charlie smiled.

He was now at the top of the stairs with your sister.

You're like the child that I wish that had

Alastor cupped your sister's face,

"Uh, what?", your dad said shocked.

Then your sister was like a child tucked in bed, literally. Alastor sitting at the edge and patting her head.

I care for you, just like a daughter I spawned

"Hold on now!", your father lifted up a finger.

The deer demon suddenly leaned his elbow on top of your dad's head, smooshing the white top hat.

It's a little funny

He started and pulled your sister to face away from your father.

You could almost call me Dad!

Suddenly you pulled into the song and were spun into a dip, finding Alastor smiling down at you with a seductive gaze.

(You can call me Daddy~), he whisper sang to you.

Your face turned bright red as you let out a squeak.

.

How adorable~ His smile widened as he saw them hide their blushing red face with their hands.

Now this one was on purpose.

After seeing the immediate reaction Lucifer had with him touching them. Oh, he had to cross multiple lines to see what the man would do next.

They were practically shaking in his hands, no doubt a little overwhelmed with what he had just sang just for their ears alone.

Let's see if I can fluster them more. He thought and raised a hand towards their face.

Suddenly they were ripped out of his hold and it was just the two men on stage.

The King growled, face darkening before he began to angrily play a fiddle, walking up to him with a scowl.

Alastor just smiled, standing up straight with his hands behind his back. Taking a step back as he dropped a piano on the short King before taking a seat on the piano bench, playing it confidently and showing off his skills before cringing at a loud sound.

His piano solo interrupted by an accordion.

Looking behind him, he saw Lusifer holding the instrument above his head with a frown, playing just one long note.

Really? He thought with a raised brow.

The two glared at each other before the spotlights above the two flickered out.

*me and my friend holding back our laughter* We can't laugh! It's 2 am!

~Seline, the person.

Part 2

Taglist@

@ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @lbcreations-blog @gallantys @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @valenfawkes @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @+?

Taglist continued in the comments🔪

ML II for Alastor🎙 | RP ChL 👑

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.12.

viktorxfemale!reader very explicit as usual, Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 7,1K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: a small rewind to Viktor's POV, angst (obviously), (bitter) masturbation, thoughts of vengeance, mentions of bullying, criticism of class structure, more thoughts of vengeance (but the second time properly aimed), sub!Viktor, subspace (Viktor), domspace (Reader), and a SURPRISE.

author’s note: As usual, playlist here and artist is @petitesieste ♡ it might end up with 16 chapters, we will see.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

It’s been five days. And not due to insecurity, pain, or even your reluctance—just plain, straight-up five days of nothing, of quick texts and no phone calls where both of you are swarmed with work and where, if one of you cuts the texting, it means they passed out with phone in hand. Viktor is alright with that, he thinks.

Until your voice echoes through the lab and there are two throbs in his body—one, obvious, between his legs, low in his belly, warmth pooling where his blood crashes down like a shameful Pavlovian response. The other, unexpected, unwelcome, spreading from his seized throat to the chest—a pang of something, jealousy maybe, or disappointment, since Jayce is still your first choice in the face of a crisis.

But when a window cracks open—not even ajar, barely wide enough for a finger—he jumps in. "I could... drive you?" he shouts through the lab, craning his face as if you could see him. Retreats from that immediately and then laughs at your red-cheeked admission. Not at you, just with relief, because it’s really fucking lucky that you can’t drive.

Jayce has enough sense to say nothing besides, “Well, bye then,” a kind smile on his face. So Viktor goes—nearly trips over himself while putting on his coat, smoothing his hair with one hand. Then, by the car, he checks his teeth in the side mirror and tries out three poses for greeting you. Sees you with the corner of his eye. Your shoes ridiculously light for the weather, thighs brushing beneath your skirt and—of course—an eyelet taunting his gaze upward, from your ankle where it starts, through your calf, your knee, and higher.

He means to be good. Civilised. But none of that is possible. Before mouth, there should be a hello, but that’s not possible either. He gets busy as soon as you step into the radius of arm’s reach—kisses you like five days was five years. His hands go to your waist first, then skim down, then up again, greedy for shape, for certainty. The first press of your mouth against his is a relief so sharp it nearly folds him in half.

But then he remembers that Jayce knows. And he of course suspects that Mel knows too, which only gets confirmed by the pinch in your brow and the way you crawl back out from the pit of his arms—back to skittish, back to overthinking. How many times Viktor will have to be undoing it, he doesn’t know. But he braces for it. Drives you around London in stiffening silence. Carries your shoes for you. Says nothing when Charlie sends you home—even then, he asks for nothing.

It’s just the thing in his chest that keeps asking and rattling when he pulls over by your house. It animates his little finger to trace along your thigh—it's all he can afford right now. What he wants to say is not even born yet.

Can I come in? Can I see where you sleep? Can I sleep with you? Can I come in?

Enthralled by your weight on his lap, he doesn’t stop you from pulling at the stitches of what hasn’t scarred properly yet. There is little to no fight in him.

Once, he means to tell you to stop—to tell you it’s ridiculous to fuck in his father’s car when the bed is a few steps away—but doesn’t.

Instead, he fucks you in his father’s car. Or rather, lets you fuck him in his father’s car. And begins to regret it somewhere mid-way through, when you become absent and selfish, and he wonders how an act of unprompted chivalry, or friendship, has chased his girl away.

He gives you nothing beyond what’s needed, convinced that if he were to ask, rejection would follow. An excuse of work, of fatigue, of mess, of anything that would prevent him stepping through the threshold of your private space—the border crossing between the country of casual and the country of commitment.

By the end he gets angry, and even though good girl tickles his tongue, he holds it in. Angry with himself, not with you—for being an utter coward.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Viktor exhales a shuddering sigh. Wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist, then his cock with a packet of tissues crumpled in the glovebox. Zips himself up. “Sakra,” he mutters, soft and ragged.

The car reeks of sweat and sex and worse—longing left too long in the sun. He doesn’t move until the fog clears from the windows and the world outside returns to shape. Streetlights. Pavement. The indifferent flicker of a crossing signal.

He drives home in silence, headlights catching in puddles, tires humming soft and steady like breath on a ventilator.

Shoes off. Shower on. He rubs his skin until it flushes, as if he can fix this by friction. When he reaches for the shampoo, he pauses. His jumper—your smell still clinging to the collar—hangs over the chair in the corner. He leaves it unwashed.

Injection. Brush teeth. Fold towel. Lie down.

And then: nothing. No music, no reading, no distractions. Just ceiling. He stares until the grain of the plaster turns to waves, and thinks—what went wrong this time? Was it the offer to help? The silence? The car? Was it me?

His fingers touch his mouth, still swollen. He goes over it again and again. The kissing, the fucking, the breath you stole when you climbed on him like he was an escape hatch, not a man.

But then before that—

Beforemouth. Before the crime of kindness. Before you flinched from being seen.

He remembers the last time you came to him willingly. When you’d forsaken breath just to keep him close. To keep him for long. When you’d cradled him like something worth keeping.

And somehow, seeing you today has done the opposite. He misses you more. He misses the version of you that treated him like her private redemption—not this stranger who approaches him like a perilous inconvenience.

He tries not to. But his body keeps asking where you are. Keeps insisting there must be more. Some remnant. Some evidence. Something left behind.

He’s hard—he realises with  horror, as if it’s not his own cock between his legs, but something foreign and starving. The bed is cold around him and the room is too quiet and he’s too alive. Jumper in the corner smells like you so strongly he can feel it in his nostrils. That car still smells like sex. That silence between you lingers, bitter on his tongue.

He sighs. Rubs a palm over his eyes. Tries not to think—but there you are again, hovering above him, the crown of your womb just out of reach, thighs tense with indecision. Not unwilling, just new to this particular kind of surrender.

The echo of your panic rattles in him. And still, you came to him. Not with confidence, but with choice. Your cunt, warm and glistening, an offering made without ceremony, and him—mouth already open, grateful, greedy, devout. You smothered him so sweetly. Pressed down with caution, then trust, then need. And now—he wishes he’d stayed there. Wishes he’d drowned.

The first touch is more apology than pleasure—soft, weary, resentful. He spits in his palm, just once, and wraps his fingers around himself like he’s done since he was a teenager: furtive, unspectacular, necessary.

But then—your voice, curled soft around a plea. Not tonight’s version. Not the strained half-chatter you used to fill the drive. No, the one from last week, low and syrup-thick. When you’d called him by his name, and it meant the world. When your mouth had opened just for him and you’d taken him in slow, like breath, like acceptance.

He thumbs the slit—just barely—and his hips lift without asking. His mind does the rest:

It’s your tongue now, flat and wide, cradling his base. Your nose sliding along the underside as you breathe him in and then your lips, wet, pulled over your teeth to not hurt his tender flesh. So good, his girl. Then cheeky, when you ask if he’s begging. He’s begging now. Without sound, without shape. Every nerve shouting your name into the meat of his chest.

His hand moves like he’s not sure what he wants—slow at first, just pressure and heat, then faster when the image of your spit-glossed mouth won’t leave him. He strokes himself like it’s you doing it, your hand flicking with quiet cruelty, your gaze pinned to his face while you work him apart with focus and intent. Not even speaking, just watching.

The disgusting sound of his own palm gets louder, and he hates it, but doesn’t stop. The lube—his own spit—is tacky, almost dry. He grips harder, hips rising in short jerks that have nothing to do with rhythm and everything to do with memory.

You, on your knees. You, under him. You, laughing into his neck after you came, soft and dazed and claimed.

He bites his lip and twists his wrist just right—just there—and sees your face, the way it looked the first time you took him all the way down. That startled flush in your cheeks, pupils blown. You’d gagged a little, then moaned like you liked it. Like you’d do it again.

He grunts, soft and low and desperate, like it’s all unbidden. He’s close now, cock heavy and flushed in his hand, balls tight. He wants to hold off, wants to stretch it, to earn it—but his body is no longer listening.

Everything coils at once—the muscles in his gut pull taut, the world narrows to breath and zeal and you. He comes with a jolt, shuddering, a hot spill across his stomach. It ropes up over his hand, clings to the hair below his navel, slick and stupid and human. No satisfaction in it, no victory, just you—still missing.

His chest rises and falls. The ceiling waits, white and useless. His hand slips free and falls to the side. The wet cools on his skin. He falls asleep like that, dirty.

When he wakes, he’s bereft. Cum has crusted like egg yolk over the fuzz on his belly, and his boxers are stiff with it. He groans loudly, then pushes his face into the pillow and lets out a muffled, “Fuck.”

Everything’s a fight—getting dressed, eating, swallowing. For the briefest moment, he’s worried he might be actually depressed before scolding himself for being dramatic. He goes to work instead, to face the final presentation before he and Jayce are free to keep saving the world.

The Institute is so stuffed with people his forehead gets clammy five minutes in, and he has to loosen the scarf. Jayce is not in yet, so Viktor hunches over the notes with yesterday’s stale coffee and revises the pitch they shouldn’t have to be giving in the first place.

He feels like he’s floating next to his body, trying to grasp his own shoulders and sink back into himself, but the movement is slow, underwater. Everything but exuberant, he drags his feet across the tiled floor, attempting to invent a smile for himself that wouldn’t look like someone pinched his skin with a clothes peg on the back of his neck.

Jayce comes in, sees this atrocity of acting, and stifles a laugh. “Are you practicing faces?”

“I, eh—” Viktor stills, but the remark, whatever it was, dies in his throat. He deflates. “I’m trying to find a face that won’t cut our chances short.”

“Easy, V. It’s homestretch,” Jayce says, walking up closer and resting a heavy hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

For a minute there, Viktor wonders about pouring his heart out to Jayce. About telling him how he feels used and tossed and small, and how all those feelings alloyed render him close to disappearing. He settles on quiet suffering instead, when he finds his new smile. “It’s nothing,” he says, mouth quirking forcefully. “I’m just nervous.”

It goes surprisingly well, and Viktor ends up hating himself for it. Because he’s just a pebble in the stream of Jayce’s charisma. It’s Jayce’s stability and enthusiasm that keeps the room warm. The one that has his eyes not rolling with exasperation but sparkling—inviting, ready for anyone who asks a dumb question. For Jayce, no question is dumb. He takes them all as an opportunity to bring someone closer. To bring them into his world.

Viktor has always admired that in Jayce, still does. Not so much the phenomena itself—Viktor is also very capable of it, when given an eager set of ears. But the ease of it, how natural it is. Even now, watching Jayce move through the crowd like a current pulling people in. They gravitate to him—students, colleagues, strangers with soft hands and sharp questions.

Today, Viktor hangs at the edge of it. Smiling when spoken to. Nodding at the right times. But everything feels a step out of sync.

He’s used to some of that—has worn misalignment like a second spine most of his life—but today it stings. Today it feels less like oddity and more like being locked out. Of what, exactly, he can’t name. Something warm, maybe. Something shared.

By the time they wrap up, his legs ache from standing. His throat’s dry. His jaw hurts from holding it just right so it doesn’t look like he’s clenching. Jayce claps him on the back with the kind of praise that usually fills him with a low glow, but today it hits flat. He thanks him. Nods. Smiles.

Then disappears. Back to the flat.

He eats tepid leftovers straight from the pan and leaves the fork in the sink. He doesn’t shower. Stands by the window instead with a glass of water, half-drunk and already warm.

By morning, the weight in his chest has calcified into something meaner.

This was supposed to be his. The work. The space where he could think with his hands. The only part of his life untouched by shame of want or guilt. The part that stayed clear even when his mind didn’t. The space in which his desires could spark an intellectual thought instead of being a taboo.

Now he can’t reach for an idea without tripping over your name. Can’t check an email without picturing your mouth. Can’t hold a damn pen without remembering how your hands held his throat, soft and certain. The rage surprises him with how clean it feels.

Not directed at you—never quite you. But at the leak in the hull, at the fault line. At himself, mostly, for letting it get this far without naming it. He wants to blame you, of course, but he knows better. Knows it was him who let affection creep in through the gaps of want. Him who mistook currency for kindness.

As if summoned, your pseudonym appears on his phone screen—Y.V.: Hi. Can I see you tonight?

And there, Viktor knows he should be a better man. But another window cracks open. One that will let him through to an alleviation of all this suffering.

Yes, come at 8, he replies.

And it’s not that he wants to say no and chooses yes instead. It’s the intention behind the yes. A quiet, cancerous impulse—to make things even. To throw all of this back at you—what it’s like to feel replaceable. Insignificant, unworthy of his space. Used and tossed.

For the rest of the day he veers between desire and judgement. Does work on autopilot. Thoughts are elsewhere—you in the car, mostly. Alien to him, a stranger. And the why, why, why clatters around his brain like a metal ball. No answer comes. It wears him out beyond anything physical. He rubs his eyes and yawns.

If that’s what you want—he can try. He can be weight and warmth and friction. He can give you the touch, nothing else. Let you use him until you come and leave. He will try and see if he can take your body without asking for your heart.

Until—

Until the elevator dings and you drag yourself out of it. Face sad, though you try to sport it into neutral. And, on the spot, he wants to gather you and hold you, but he waits, counting your steps.

You walk past him in the door, but eyes on him at all times. No words, yet you speak with your hands—they come cold, reaching, one for his cheek, the other for his nape.

And then your mouth comes, and it’s as if there is nothing before the mouth. Soft, tender. Oh—longing. You’ve missed him, he can tell. Your tongue feels delicate between his lips, shy. You lick into him with quiet smacks of skin on skin until there is more.

A sudden, all-encompassing amnesia rolls through his body like a massive eraser, getting rid of his resolutions. Ice thaws in his chest, where your fingers slot between his ribs, pulling him closer.

He forgets, in an instant, the person you were in the car. It’s you again. The lovely, wonderful, needy version of you that seeks solace in his arms, that will let him break you and mend you.

It’s Viktor who deepens. Towering over you as you make yourself smaller, craning your head to swallow his tongue. His hands slide up your spine, then down again—slow, earnest. He presses his hips to yours, not to rut, but to remind you he’s here. All of him. That you’re welcome. Thus, he reminds himself too.

Your mouth opens wider under his, breath warm, tasting of coffee and stubborn silence. He kisses you like he’s been uncorked—starved for you, for closeness, for sense. Tongue curling against yours, lips parting wider with each drag, every wet give of mouth against mouth spelling out hello and I missed you and I forgive you.

When he nips your lower lip, it’s not for dominance but devotion. He sucks it into his mouth, hums like he could live off your taste. One hand cradles the back of your head. The other—sneaks beneath your jumper, flats over your waist, thumb stroking slow circles into your skin like a reminder: you’re here now, stay.

The ache begins to dull. With this dulling, his body catches up with the fatigue—muscles relax, lungs expand, and Viktor can’t help it when he yawns straight into your mouth.

“Oh, you’re so tired,” you say with a half-smile, brushing hair off his forehead, fingers light and affectionate.

“Yes,” Viktor chuckles, hiding his face in the crook of your shoulder. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long week,” he murmurs, voice muffled by fabric, hands resting at the small of your back underneath clothes, fingertips entwined. “I’m alright though, I can—”

“No, I—” you interrupt, head falling against his, ear to ear. “I’m shattered.” You pull back just enough to look at him. “Do you want to—"

“Hang out?” he offers, hopeful. You sigh and nod, making him smile. “I would love to,” he says, already unshouldering your bag. “Are you hungry?”

“God, yes. I’d kill for a curry.”

“You shall get one,” Viktor says, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Go to the bedroom, I’ll order the food,”

“Thank you,” you exhale into his neck. “Thank you.” A kiss—long, tender peck on his tendon, before you kick your shoes off and trail down the corridor.

He makes the call, then goes to the kitchen to make tea. Waits for a kettle to boil with head in his hands, both ashamed and relieved. It was a momentary flop, he tells himself. He had one, now you’ve had one, it’s all evened out.

When the tea is ready, he takes a slow walk toward the bedroom, cane dangling loosely from his forearm. You're lying on the bed, still dressed, legs apart, toes pointed outward. He sets the cups on the bedside table and settles between your ankles. One of your feet lands in the cradle of his palm—thumb pressing into the sole before it rests on his lap. Your toes are cold too. He finds himself wondering absently if it's tights or stockings beneath your trousers.

“Now we wait,” he says, rubbing out the tension. “How have you been?”

“I—” First you hiss at his thumb digging into your arch, then relax. “Awful,” you admit. “It’s been an awful week and I’ve been awful the last time I saw you,” you say breathlessly, looking at his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Viktor stills his movements, save for fingers caressing your toes through nylon. He’s entirely unsure how to talk to you about Wednesday, since all the anger he’s felt evaporated the minute you’ve put your lips on him. Only fear remains. “Who do I have to smack?” he asks instead.

Your face twists when he resumes, and you exhale a gasp through open mouth. Hot. “Uh, British education system? I really don’t know,” you chuckle, rising onto your elbows.

Viktor hums, takes a deep breath. “Hmm, I will get to work tomorrow,” he says, covering the row of your joints with his palm and twisting gently, until they pop one by one.

“Ah—” you yelp. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

“Eh, I didn’t. I’m treading blindly here,” he shrugs, abashed. I just want to touch you, that’s it.

You eye him for a moment. Then: “How… are you?”

“Very tired,” he admits. “But—it seems that we’ve secured the cancer treatment research, for good. Or rather, for now. The pitch on Thursday went well, so we are moving to in vitro testing.”

You retreat your foot to come closer, and sit on your heels. “Viktor, that’s huge,” you say, resting your hand on his cheek. “Well done.” Your eyes sparkle, honest, truly amazed.

Viktor smiles. Well done. Suddenly his pliancy feels justified. The choice to not confront the pain becomes a right one, because your presence softens it just enough. Him, starved for comfort, lapping the first offered crumb is not a cure, he knows, but it lets him breathe a little better. Even if it’s just survival behaviour, not healing.

Trapped in the space between intimacy and uncertainty, where unspoken affection masquerades as safety, you both float. Acting like you’re close, but never confirming it. And he’s well aware that it’s a suppression in favour of connection. A delayed reckoning. He’s only worried that this tenderness he has for you is not just passive, but it might be also tragic.

A sharp sound of the buzzer jolts you both right up. Viktor rises, and you follow him wordlessly to wait with him by the door. He plays with your fingers.

“Your hands are so cold today,” he murmurs, frowning slightly as he brushes his thumb over your knuckles. Not a complaint—an observation, touched with worry.

“Yes, I think I’m just mildly exsanguinated. I bled my energy out for some posh cunt.” You roll your eyes, trying for lightness, but there’s a tremble under it that makes him study you harder.

He says nothing, just guides your palms underneath his sweater and traps them in warmth with his armpits. Flinches a bit at the glacial sting on the sensitive skin, but endures it, for you.

You do the food drop-off together and then walk clumsily back to the bedroom. Viktor settles against the headboard with his legs spread in front of him, you sit at the foot of the bed, facing him. At first, you eat in silence. He watches you—who is clearly uncomfortable about this. A very blatant scene—two people spending Friday evening eating takeout Indian food.

“Someone from my past reemerged,” you say suddenly. Before Viktor’s eyebrows can climb any higher, you add, “Not an ex—my classmate. She’s an actress now, or she’s trying to be. She didn’t get the role and threw a fit. First tried to bribe me, then maim me, and I—” You shake your head, fiddling with a piece of naan. “I handled it well. I think. But it just… burned me right out,” you admit, your voice dropping into a hush.

This—this is a complete terra incognita for Viktor. He had you talking about your work, yes. Discussing topics with him, even. Asking questions about him. But this? Just a free-willed confession? Never. He shouldn’t be smiling.

He clears his throat, and asks, “What happened at your school?”

“Oh, I—” you start, faltering for a beat. “Well, I survived it.” You look up briefly, then away. “But you have to understand, for someone like me it’s a polygon. I’m almost at the very bottom of the food chain—plain name, no rich parents, common accent. Common person. Just… talented, I suppose. Threatening. A stranger.” You say it with a small, bitter smile, but don’t dress it up further. It lands just as it is—fact.

Before asking, Viktor adds the detail to his internal ledger—another sharp entry in the growing archive of things that have shaped you. It fills him with heat. Livid, yes, at the world that made you shrink your victories before they ever had a chance to shine. He pushes the anger aside, not out of dismissal, but discipline. He’s not here to rage anymore—he’s here to listen.

“Why does that matter?” he asks after a beat.

“I have no idea, but it’s been like this since the dawn of time. When I got the scholarship the first emotion I felt was fear, not joy. And I wasn’t wrong really, I had horrible things done to me. Which is why I will never allow nepotism in my theatre,” you say, your voice gaining force before dipping again. “So I had to… just accept that I’m close to nothing. You know, a dirty beggar in a world where everyone had a nanny and never lifted a finger to do physical chores.” Your tone is matter-of-fact, as if repeating something that was once shouted at you until it solidified into truth.

“I… I really wanted this. Really, so badly. And I know… it’s just school and I’m different now, but meeting someone from then and having them act identical, it… it makes me feel identical as then. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” You hunch forward, staring into your food like it might hide your embarrassment. One shoulder shrugs, small and defensive. Your voice cracks once before you steady it again.

Viktor fights the urge to leave abruptly and seek out the person who did this to you, rip the head off neck, and spit inside. He blinks twice, then speaks your name mid-swallow. “I will listen to everything you want to tell me,” he says, reaching out for your palm, still cold.

You look at him, eyes wide and searching, as if you are weighing something in your head. Then you squeeze his hand back and look away as you speak, ashamed, and it twists Viktor’s guts.

“Once, she stepped on my toes. Literally, with force. Two of them got broken and I had to give up the part in a play. I can’t wear heels for too long because of that. She got the role, of course. I… I lost it. The role, and just… it.” You let out a bitter laugh, then swallow it down. “We um… got into a fight, a physical one, ended up at the principal’s office. I almost got expelled, but there was one teacher… who thought I have potential and he… oh, God, it was awful, I haven’t thought about it in years, but now—” Your words hitch. You choke mid-sentence, breath catching in your throat like gravel. Your eyes glisten and fill faster than you can wipe them. “Sorry—sorry—” you say, voice high and helpless now, and it’s clear you can’t hold the tears back anymore.

“Come here,” he says, setting your food aside. “Come here, darling.” He pulls you into himself and you come, no fight there, fold into him. Your arms wrap around his waist, head rests on his chest and it’s such a sweet weight Viktor sighs. “Tell me her address, I will send her an anthrax letter,” he mutters, stroking your hair.

“Oh, Viktor,” you chuckle weakly. “You’re a star,” you exhale into him, and finally there is some mirth in your voice. Your laugh is shaky but real, muffled by his jumper. “Don’t tempt me though.” You shift closer, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt underneath.

“I would do it for you,” Viktor says with a small smile, innocent. I would do anything for you. “Nobody gets to hurt you.”

His voice doesn’t rise—it’s the steadiness that makes it land. He says it like a principle, like gravity, as if it’s simply the way the world should work. As if loving you means making it true. He’s absolutely certain he loves you.

“You can tell me things like this, you know that, yes?” He tilts his head to press his lips against your crown, voice low and sure, trying to make you believe it—desperate for you to believe it.

“Well, clearly no, since you are ready to cause an epidemic on my behalf,” you mutter, and all that Viktor can think is: I would. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” you add, voice softening again. “But I don’t tell this to anyone. Mel knows vaguely, nobody else.”

Then: “I… I don’t want to be seen as weak.” You say it into the fabric of his jumper, barely audible, like it costs you something to even admit it.

For a moment Viktor wonders if throwing your wisdom back at you would have an effect. “You are not weak,” he says instead. He tilts your chin to make you meet his gaze, looks you square in the eye, all serious, until the damnedest smirk pulls the corners of his mouth to the sides and up. “You are very good.”

Laughter bubbles out from between your lips, a wonderful sound to him. “You are never letting that one go, are you?”

“No, it’s the best compliment I ever got,” Viktor hums, sliding down the headboard until you are both splayed flat on the bed. He plucks your palm off his chest and holds it to his mouth. “Your hands are still cold,” he says, then blows a gush of warm air onto it, like one would fog glass. There—you both stay. For five breaths. For ten. For fifteen.

Then, an idea—born from desire, yet not one to claim you, but one to vest some power back into you—comes. He rolls you over so that now it’s him nuzzled into the well of your neck, and takes your hand to trap it between his legs.

“You can do whatever you want with me,” he sighs against your skin, rubbing his thighs together.

Your mouth parts in quiet surprise, eyes skating over his face, cautious. “Are you sure?”

Viktor nods, the certainty settling over him slow, thick with longing. “Yes. I want this. I want you.”

A hitch in your throat, the softest exhale; your arm wraps around him, palm skimming the back of his neck, fingers threading tenderly into his hair. You pull him closer until your mouth grazes his cheek. “Thank you,” you murmur, breath hot on his skin, lips feather-light. Devoted, Viktor thinks, and feels heat pool low in his belly.

Then your hand settles on him, pressing steadily through his trousers, and Viktor's mouth opens, a quiet groan slipping free, pure relief. This—this—is what he’s ached for, not the frantic, bitter scrabble of your touch in the car, nor the humiliating friction of his own rough palm, desperate and insufficient. No, this softness, this tenderness—patient, measured, full of care. You, taking your time, cradling the weight and shape of him, drawing out every sigh, every twitch of his hips.

Your palm cups him, fond, tracing the ridge of him as he thickens, fabric suddenly abrasive and too rough, intensifying every sweep of your thumb and subtle tightening of your fingers. Viktor's breath rattles out, damp and ragged; he arches into your touch, hips hitching forward in surrender, nerves sparking white-hot under the pressure of your hand. This is the comfort he's craved, your slow claiming, as certain as sunlight cresting the horizon.

“Yes,” he rasps, barely audible, urgent but sweet. “Please.”

You tighten your grip, just slightly, enough to push him further. His head lolls against your shoulder, lips parted as he breathes you in, every nerve in him open, yearning. Your movements—slow, commanding—break down his edges piece by piece, stroke by stroke. It’s soft agony, the best kind, the kind Viktor wants to prolong as much as he wants it to end, and he clutches your wrist, pressing your hand firmer against him, the only anchor left.

He’s yours now, willingly drowning beneath your fingertips, safe in the hollow of your palm. And he hopes—absurdly, foolishly—that you will never let him surface.

Steadily, you work open the button of his trousers. His breath stops halfway down his throat, lungs flattened by the enormity of this miniature intimacy. Then the zip—small hardware surrendering one tooth at a time, and when your palm finds him, Viktor shudders from root to crown.

Air hits his skin first; then your touch, cool at first, but warming fast. His eyes fall closed. It’s soft, tips just brushing the length, tracing veins beneath delicate tissue. It’s enough—already—to coax out the first slick bead of precum, pearled at the tip and quickly smeared by your thumb, slow, languid circles around the crown. Viktor's jaw slackens, neck arches baring throat, pulse hammering under flimsy layer of skin.

He cracks his eyes open, just enough to watch—the slack in your shoulders disappears; what remains is intent—ownership that straightens your spine. Viktor melts into it, relief unfurling in his gut, hot and urgent.

“You’re so good for me.” The words run down his back like a thumb tracing bone. Your palm slides lower, then back up, slicking in the tears he weeps, wrist twisting at the head. Viktor groans, hips meeting your grip. Your voice carries deep, coaxing him further open. “You always know what I need.”

The words feel more intimate than your hand on him—each sentence shaping him into someone he longs to be, someone worth this devotion. Viktor aches beneath your praise. Gone is the hollow, exchanged for something deeper, richer. His skin feels too tight, his heart too large, his ribs insufficient to contain the flood of sensation and thirst pouring through him.

You work faster, lust sparking as he trembles beneath you, pelvis rolling helplessly, breath thickened to molasses. You speak again, lips pressed to his temple, whispering your redemption into the curls at his hairline. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

And Viktor, unable to resist you, submits fully—sinks deeper into the mattress, into your touch, into this breaking-open that leaves him entirely bare. Need ratchets inside him—hot, bright—until his thighs start to shake.

Caged between the options of ending and going further he tries to remain still under you, as your fist slides in maddening rhythm, so fucking steady it makes his heart beat out of sync. His legs go tense, and hips lift without reason now, just impulse. Just need.

“Would you like to come?” you ask, voice even as a metronome.

He nods fast, frantic, his breath catching. “Please,” he gasps. “Please—please—” the word trips over itself, loses shape, collapses into a string of syllables as he inches toward the edge.

You breathe out hard through your nose, and then shove another instrument of torture down his underwear. A hand wraps around his balls, already warm. The shock of it jolts a raw moan out of him; his palms fly to his eyes, blotting the room to black.

“Fuck, yes,” he hisses, and then he’s fumbling, clawing at his own shirt, pulling it up in a half-fold across his chest just in time to watch—eyes wide and wet—as he spills over his belly. Thick pulses striping his stomach, each contraction dragged out by the sure pump of your fist.

White skin painted whiter, Viktor blinks between breaths and tries to regain control of his lungs. Nothing foreshadows it—not the hand briefly tightening around him, nor the crack of your knuckles. It shies out small from your mouth, quiet but echoing like a church bell, and suddenly, he’s as pale as the artwork on his abdomen.

“I love you,” you say, as the room distorts around him.

And when his gaze finds you, he wonders briefly if he looks as shocked as you do. Eyes wide, unblinking, lips parted by tremor. Then, you finally breathe out, and oh God, you look like you are going to mumble I’m sorry—a blade, no dull edge—so cum or no cum on his stomach, Viktor moves.

He grips your neck and waist with whatever strength you’ve left his limbs, glues himself to you, wet spreading to your clothes—but he doesn’t care. His tongue could find yours in the dark, in the void, anywhere life takes him. Groaning and breathing you in through mouth and nose, Viktor kisses you as if it’s the first time. He opens his mouth wide and rolls onto you, trapping your confession inside until you forget the cancelling thing that was to follow.

“I love you,” he says between kisses, frantic, lips wet against yours. “I love you so fucking much,” another press of mouth to cheek, to jaw, to lips again. “I adore you,” he mutters into the corner of your mouth, his voice already hoarse, already breaking. “I fucking adore you.”

“Shit,” you say, startled—half-laugh, half-gasp, as if it snuck out of you.

He pulls back just far enough to look at you properly, searching your face. Pupils huge. You blink once, hard, like trying to centre yourself—and something in you settles.

“Okay, yes. I fucking love you.” Your voice shakes on the first word, steadies on the last. “I love you, Viktor.” All-warmed hands come to cup his cheeks, thumbs rubbing it in.

He laughs then. Sound uncertain, breath caught between sob and joy, and if he keeps going, Viktor is sure he will cry with this relief—so he kisses you instead. Mouth torn, palms trembling, a full-body gratitude.

“You wicked thing,” he says finally, slumping onto you, and it sounds like the wretched I love you all over again, scraped raw from his chest. “Weeks, no—months of this, I thought I’m losing my mind.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, face to face, his weight draped over you like a coat still warm from the body. Your brows knit, incredulous, lips parted in a stunned half-smile people wear when they’re trying not to cry.

Viktor’s forehead winkles. He mutters your name like it’s the ultimate answer. “You frighten me—you look like I’m holding you at gun point every time there is even a suggestion. Besides,” he says, eyes dropping to your lips. “How could I tell you when you fucked me in the car like I’m nothing?” You flinch, pull back, mouth already parting to apologise—but he’s faster. “And,” he breathes, cupping your jaw so you can’t look away. “I have already told you.”

“What? When?”

“Mám tě ráda,” he says, all serious smile. His voice is hoarse, lowering into a hum. “It means I love you. Like I love someone who I carry in heart at all times.” He rubs his face on yours, nose to cheek, lips brushing skin as he speaks the next bit straight into your mouth.

“But now I can tell you,” he murmurs, like a secret finally safe to speak. “Miluji tě.” I love you. “Moc tě miluji.” I love you so much. “Moje láska,” he whispers, kissing you between the words, “my love.”

“Like I love you and I am in love with you. Mad about you, for that matter,” he adds, dry-mouthed and half-laughing now, as if even he can’t believe how many times he’s said it and how good it feels to finally get this ballast off his chest.

Your cheeks are burning. You stare up at him, blinking slow, lips parting shyly before the words tumble out. “I think this is more I love yous than I’ve heard in a lifetime.” Your voice shakes as you say it, breath trapped behind teeth—your body speaking louder than mouth.

“That’s a crime,” Viktor mutters, shaking his head. “I will keep telling you until you believe me.”

“I believe you,” you say, lifting your hand to his face. Your palm fits along his jaw, thumb tracing the edge of his cheekbone. “I know. You, I know.”

He sighs at that—long, loud, grateful—and nuzzles into your touch like he can breathe easier from it. “Now, can we,” he starts, tone growing torrid, mouth drifting lower to the hinge of your jaw. To ease that drought, he adds tongue and drags it along your throat.

“Stop having non-committal sex in a safe and friendly atmosphere,” he says, teeth out to join this kiss meant to last in colour—his first legal love-bite. “And move to having fully committed sex, so I can officially tell every person we meet in a fucking restaurant that you are mine?”

“Yes,” you breathe, then laugh, overwhelmed. “God, yes. I have no idea what I’m doing, but yes.” The fear hasn’t vanished, he knows, but he holds it at bay with hands on your hips. You grip him back just as firmly, intention purer than absence of skill.

“You are doing great,” Viktor says, mouth to neck. A smile—insistent—burns a moon-shaped brand on skin. For once, it’s more than enough. Nearly too much. He lets it flatten him anyway, and he breathes through it, deeply, gratefully. It settles into a dignified rest until Viktor’s thoughts drift, and he snorts into the pool of your clavicle.

You pull away. “What?” He sighs, bracing for you to swat him or groan or call him something loving like twat or prick and then with adoration painted on his face, he says, “I can’t believe you don’t know how to drive.”

[lxkeee]

MY LOVE, IS MINE ALL MINE PART THREE

pairing: Lucifer x fem! reader

fandom: hazbin hotel

genre: fanfiction

notes: Imaoo sorry it took awhileee I'm actually a very busy college student while simultaneously having so much brainrot for this man so... Be patient omfg, I just posted part one a two days ago also, don't mind the warnings too much as it doesn't specifically for this specific chapter but it can be future parts of the story. So yes, hand holding before marriage will happen between Lucifer and [y/n]

warnings: none except hand holding before marriage Imao.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR

Lucifer paced back and forth in his room, worried. Walking around the large master's bedroom, passing by many piles of rubber ducks he made.

“She should be back by now.” Lucifer murmured to himself, sighing.

His eyes landed on to the framed pictures decorating his walls.

He prayed that Charlie met [y/n] up there, the one angel he trusts. Though, it has been eons since he's last seen her, he wonders if [y/n] changed after all these years, especially after he had fallen from grace.

Did she hate him? Did she miss him like how he misses her?

As he sat on his arm chair, a gold sealed white envelope manifested on top of the coffee table in front of him, pink glittery smoke surrounding the letter.

“...What the...?” Lucifer murmurs, hesitant and cautious, eyeing the envelope. What if it's a trap?

Suddenly his phone buzzed, he immediately checked it to see it was a text message from Charlie.

“I just left a letter on your table, it's from someone you know. I'll tell you everything that happened in heaven but I'll rest for a bit. Love you dad!”

Lucifer smiled though a tad bit worried, he can tell that the meeting didn't go as his daughter hoped. He can only give her time.

Lucifer then now turned his eyes back on the neat envelope, sparkling a little. He turned the letter around to see it was specifically addressed to him, written in an oh so familiar handwriting to him. Unknowingly, just by seeing the handwriting was enough for his eyes to tear up a little.

“[y/n]....” He murmurs, finally opening the letter. Using his sharp nails to scrape off the wax without breaking it or tearing the envelope. Taking out the carefully folded light yellow paper, unfolding it to reveal her letter to him.

My Dearest Lucifer

His cheeks flushed slightly, with a comma after dearest. My Dearest, Lucifer

“Oh [y/n], this will keep me up at night.” Lucifer murmurs with a small dorky smile on his face, his sharp teeth shining against the light, eyes watering.

My Dearest, Lucifer

       It has been awhile hasn't it? A couple of eons since we've last seen each other. You have no idea how excited I was when I heard your daughter would be coming here in hell. I made sure to write a letter in advance a day before her arrival. I have a lot to tell you, first and foremost, I truly missed you. You sly man, you really got married without inviting me. How's your time down there? I hope hell is treating you right, I really hope I'll get a chance to see you again. I hope we'll get a proper chance to talk, I want to personally hear you how you've been doing. I hope you'll get the chance to see the good of humans after giving them free will, I promise to find a way for you to leave and visit earth. I am running out of paper to right on but I promise to help your daughter up here and lastly, I want you to remember that I adore you always.

“Sincerely yours, [y/n] [l/n]” Lucifer softly reads out, voice shaking. It felt like he could hear her as he read the letter. The same kind [y/n] who always believed in him. His heart swells knowing that she's still trying to help in any way she can despite their distance. She never stopped believing in him despite him leaving without notice (not that he had the chance to).

“If only you knew how much I adore you too, [y/n]...” Lucifer murmurs softly, his finger tracing the outline of the paper ever so gently.

“I want to see you again, I have so many things to say to you... So many unsaid words I wanted to say... I wanted to tell you that I love...” Lucifer's eyes widened ever so slightly, cheeks turning red. He knows he loves her and he still does but he also loves his ex-wife, Lilith. Does he? Or is he just holding into something that no longer exists as it was something he had for a long time and now it's gone?

Everything in his life changed, Lilith's love for him changed, he changed.

Despite all of this, [y/n] remained unchanging inside his heart. Sure, Lilith held the majority of his heart but now? He is not sure but he is 100% sure [y/n] never left, he still has affections for the angel.

How can he not? She's the only one who believed in him when he was up in heaven? She comforted him whenever the elders said hurtful things to his ideas.

But now...

Her letter gave him a sense of hope that his decision of giving mankind free will might not be useless after all.

Lucifer closes the letter, gently folding it back on how it was folded before he opened it. Bringing the piece of paper to his nose, smelling the faint scent of her perfume. It brought back memories of his time with her in heaven.

“I'll ask Charlie about what happened up there later but for now, I'll take a moment to process this.” He says with a small sigh. Slipping the folded paper back into the envelope.

Lucifer sighs as he gently places the envelope back on his table, walking to his balcony. Eyes staring up into the smoky red skies of hell, devoid of any moon and stars.

He used to stargaze with her when he was still in heaven.

[y/n] was his moon, who shines during his darkest days.

Waving his finger in the air, specks of golden dust flickers out of his fingers. Forming a crescent moon.

Lucifer leans into the railings, eyes staring at the faux moon he created.

“Moon, tell me if I could...” Lucifer softly sang, eyes tired but hopeful. “Send up my heart to you...?” he asked softly, unfortunately no one answered.

A bit of a timeskip....

It has been a few months since Charlie's visit here in heaven and the next extermination is getting closer by the day. Emily and I are still trying to look for ways to help Charlie.

Sera adores Emily, I am sure that she wouldn't get punished. I on the other hand, Sera has been keeping a close eye on me. Criticizing me. Lute being tasked to watch my every move.

“Sera, this is utterly ridiculous! We should give those poor souls a second chance.” [Y/n] says, clenching her fists as she looked at Sera who was sitting on her chair inside the Seraphim office.

“That is enough, [y/n]. You keep this up and you'll end up fallen like Lucifer.” Sera said sternly, eyes glaring at the [y/n]. “You barely managed to escape that fate before, you could've fallen the same time as Lucifer but thankfully your actions weren't as severe as his.”

[y/n] slammed her fists against the table, angel eyes appearing on her wings with fury, “We aren't God, Sera! Who gave you the right to judge those sinners and claim they don't deserve a second chance?” she exclaimed.

Sera stood up from her seat, anger evident on her face. “Don't you dare raise your voice at me! You're on thin ice, [y/n]!”

[y/n] rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over chest, “What are you going to do? Huh? Kick me out of heaven?”

Sera's glare sharpened, patience running thin. “Keep that attitude up and you just might.”

“Lucifer doesn't deserve this treatment! You cursed him to not see the good of people! You cursed the people who have a chance to redeem themselves by taking their life! How does it feel that so much blood is spilled because of your decision?!” [y/n] asked angrily, tears running down her cheeks.

“We have our own souls to protect! This decision wasn't easy to make!” Sera remarked angrily, her wings spread out intimidatingly.

“Protect them from what?! As far as I know, it's only us angels who are a threat to them? If they do something that doesn't fit your standards or the elder's standards they are bound to fall from grace!” [y/n] says mockingly, rage and annoyance evident on both women's eyes.

“That's it, you've crossed the line!”

“You don't want to admit that I am right, angels are such selfish, greedy, and filthy creatures. I cannot believe I am associated with beings whose hands are stained with blood.”

You know, falling doesn't seem so bad.

Strong and harsh winds are blowing against my back, thankfully I still have my wings. It is currently useless, unfortunately. I don't have the energy to flap them to save myself from the approaching pain.

After that argument with Sera, the higher seraphim thought I was already way out of line and disrespectful. I was placed on trial, handcuffed with the type of handcuffs that prevents me from using my angelic powers while it simultaneously sucked the energy out of me.

I was deemed guilty, shameful, and ungrateful and a threat to the order of heaven.

Tossed out of the pearly gates of heaven by none other than Adam, that asshole really grabbed me by the hair.

[y/n] sighs softly, vision blurring. Trying to focus it as she falls from grace. The skies looked so beautiful.

Lucifer would've loved these skies, we've stargazed during the night before. When he was still in heaven with me.

Lucifer, I can see Ursa Major tonight. Someday, I'll bring you back here on the surface and stargaze like we've always do. No matter how many stars are in the sky, you always take my attention. You're like my star, you shine so bright and so pure.

I'll join you in the pits of hell, I hope you didn't forget about me.

I should be happy that I'm finally leaving that god awful place.

Why am I so scared of falling to my demise?

For a moment, I can see a glimpse of how Lucifer felt when he fell from grace.

Terrifying.

[Y/n] closes her eyes as she finally goes past the Earth's crust. Ichor flowing out of her hands from the handcuffs she had to wear.

“I am not allowed to die, I still need to see him.” [y/n] murmurs before eventually crashing into the fiery grounds of hell, she fortunately crashed somewhere where there weren't any people, a wide space of nothing but dead trees, a hotel can be seen in the distance.

Pain, pain shot everywhere her body. She let out a sharp scream of pure pain. Blood spilled everywhere before she eventually passed out.

It didn't matter, the pain didn't matter. She's here now. She'll look for him or Charlie.

She doesn't know Charlie would find her first.

END NOTES: YUHHH THEY'LL SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN IN THE NEXT UPDATEE

TAGLIST:

@n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @luleck @adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya (I can't tag you </3) @many-fandoms-lover

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt.1)

Lucifer/Reader

Hazbin Hotel AU where Lilith never existed, Lucifer has been lonely for over a millennia and Charlie will be born one way or another. Rated E for explicit sexual content of the raunchiest variety in later chapters and also weird old people.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

There was a knock at your door. It sounded like someone rapping their knuckles against the wood whimsically, as if following the beat of a song you couldn’t hear.

The methodical folding of your clothes into garage sale-quality drawers came to a halt. You looked over your shoulder, shifting on your feet hesitantly.

It had been little over a week since you moved into the grand old Donner apartment. Apart from a quick tow-in of shoddy furniture from your hired movers, no one had come calling. 

You definitely weren’t expecting anyone either, not in a brand new city you’d spontaneously decided to live in.

After another moment of uncertainty, you pivoted to the door and inched it open to a slit you could peek through. “Hello?”

Your brow furrowed as you stared at the empty space ahead of you. Pulling the door open fully, you peered down one end of the hallway to the other. 

Nothing but cracked and crumbling crown moldings on wainscoting, a matted-looking saxony carpet, the same musty, stale air…

‘Quack’

You nearly jumped out of your skin, head snapping down to see a real, live duck standing just outside your doorframe. 

“Oh!”

     You immediately squatted down to marvel at the animal. It gazed back up at you with beady red eyes and a curious gait. 

“Hey little guy,” You cooed, smiling despite the incongruous image of a waterfowl in your building.

You raised a hand and reached out slowly, instinctive desire to pet the cute little creature warring with a minuscule yet no less embarrassing fear. 

Were ducks typically friendly? You knew so little, ornithology not being your thing. 

“Will you let me pet you?” Your fingers hovered over the surprisingly patient animal before it decided to nudge itself under your palm.

The duck shivered with delight at your touch, all-white feathers ruffling excitedly and tail wagging, looking akin to a very happy dog. 

“Oh my god.” You gasped, heart melting. “You’re so cute!”

Soft feathers brushed against your bent knees as the duck drew close enough to rub its body against you. It had gone from doggish to cat-like effortlessly, and you couldn’t help giggling over how silly it looked.

“Where did you come from?” You asked after a bit of cuddling, glancing from side to side once again. The hallway remained empty, no one running to fetch what you assumed was a beloved pet. 

     ‘That’s… weird.’ You thought. ‘So, who knocked on my door?’ 

It was tempting to ask the bird that was currently bouncing on its webbed feet. You couldn’t help but snort with laughter before positioning yourself so that you were sitting. In an instant, the duck made to climb into your lap, allowing you to carefully lift it onto your legs when it couldn’t reach. 

“You’re so silly!” Grinning, you continued to stroke its head. “Your owner is probably worried sick about their silly little guy.” 

‘Quack’ 

The duck burrowed its head against your stomach as it settled on your lap, and you sighed. “I’d love to keep you, but I don’t know how to take care of you, sweetie.” 

Little red eyes bore into you from below, seemingly wide and beseeching. It was too precious, and too perfect (to the point where you idly wondered if someone was somehow scouting a way to scam you via adorable duck shenanigans).

Aside from the guttural, sad ‘wek’ you got in reply, a slow creak of hinges drew your attention back up. The door across from you had visibly opened the barest amount. You squinted, just able to make out frizzy red hair and a red-rimmed, down-turned mouth in the dim lighting. 

“Oh hey, hi!” You stopped yourself from standing, instead of bracing the bundle in your lap close. “Is this your duck?”

A tingle went up your spine as the door opened fully and an old woman appeared. She was dressed in green capri pants and a ruffled tan blouse, hair red as an open flame and barely kept in-check by a cheetah-print scarf. The makeup she wore was caked on, harsh red lipstick smeared around her thin lips and black kohl-rimmed eyes popping out of her wrinkled face. 

The sour, almost suspicious look on her face softened but did not completely go away, even when she smiled.

“Oh Lou!” She cried, making you jump. “You didn’t get very far, did you? I almost didn’t notice you were gone, you little scoundrel!”

“Well, thank goodness for that I guess. He’s got those little legs, ya see,” She nodded down at your lap, “but he’s so darn fast anyway, might as well be a midget racehorse!”

You chuckled and smiled politely. That persistent tingling at your back had you holding back a shiver, and the skin on your arms prickled and rose. 

“I didn’t know we could have pet ducks in this building.” Your words belied a confidence, as well as interest in having a conversation with this woman, that you didn’t truly have. 

As a matter of fact, despite the inner scolding you gave yourself for being judgmental, you were quite off-put in the woman’s presence. The want to return to your apartment and shut the door in her overly-painted face was rising like a lump in your throat. 

“He seems to really like you, that’s so sweet. He’s not usually this friendly with anyone but my hubby. That’s Mr. Farrow, honey, have you met him?” The woman - presumably Mrs, Farrow, leaned down just a few feet away. 

She still looked to be examining you and your avian companion, the bland pleasantness oozing yet unable to suffocate the shrewd glint in her dark eyes. 

“Oh, uh, no. I’m afraid I haven’t -” You started. 

“Oh, that’s alright! That’s fine! Matter of fact, he’d get an earful from me if he was talkin’ to a pretty thing like you without me knowin’!” Mrs. Farrow laughed. “Just kiddin’, honey. You’re new to the building though, aren’t you? Well, welcome! It’s nice to see a new face here! ‘Specially a young one!” 

“Thank —”

“Maybe that’s why Lou is so taken with you! Animals just thrive off energy and sunshine and all that. Not slow, almost dead things. I’m sure you’re birds of a feather that way.” 

Again, your soft laughter is polite, teetering on nervousness. 

You took a moment to rise, humming apologetically when Lou squawked as he was jostled. On your feet, you instinctively stepped back. One foot over the threshold and solid in your apartment. 

“He is really sweet.” You said, holding the animal out as carefully as you could. “I’m glad he didn’t get lost.”

Mrs. Farrow stared, arms falling to her sides. She didn’t attempt to take the bird from you for a long, long moment. 

Confusion and disbelief clouded your mind as you stood, waiting, watching as Mrs. Farrow’s throat bobbed when she swallowed forcefully. 

What? Was she afraid of the duck?

In a split-second, she returned to smiling animatedly and waved a geriatric hand in the air so flippantly that the uncomfortable moment ceased to exist. 

“Oh honey, you can put him down if you want. He’ll come back over now that our door’s open.” Mrs. Farrow laughed. “Lou’s not my biggest fan. He’s such a prideful thing, you know. Just like Mr. Farrow - it’s probably why they get along so well!”

You blinked, then slowly bent at the waist to let Lou down. The duck made another disdainful quack, red eyes looking at you morosely. 

It’s little legs eventually rowed through the air in an effort to gain footing. You lightly placed him over the carpet and let go, allowing Lou to jump down. 

The duck began waddling away, though it appeared to hang its head as it did so. Occasionally, he turned to look at you, somber and sullen as if bidding farewell before walking on death row. 

“Aww, poor little thing.” Mrs. Farrow drawled. At your side. “Looks like my Lou is sweet on you! Poor guy, I can see why! Again, a lovely young thing like you is probably a gift from above in this stuffy old place.” 

“Say, how long have you been here?” 

You turned to the old woman. “About a week, I’m still getting settled.”

Mrs. Farrow nodded vigorously, eyes bright but mouth pursed. “A week, a week?! A week and no one’s introduced themselves to you?”

“Holy Toledo, you must think we’re all a bunch a’ snobs in here! That’s no good. Oh! Why don’t you come over for dinner sometime and me and my mister can show you some proper hospitality?” 

“Oh, that's really nice of you —” 

“Sure! Sure! It’ll be great, how ‘bout tomorrow night? It’d give us some time to get prepared, have things cleaned and settled. Do you like steak? That’d be perfect, actually. I’ve got some in the freezer just waitin’ to be defrosted.”

“Um, well — That’s a little short notice…”

“I’m sure Mr. Farrow won’t mind. He’ll be glad for the company, and if he isn’t, well he will be when I’m done with him.” She chortled. “Just another joke, honey. He’s always dyin’ to talk to someone that isn’t me. It’d be a real treat to him. Treat ta me too! What do you say?”

Your mouth opened and closed as a light sheen of sweat broke over the nape of your neck. Mrs. Farrow’s sharp eyes were wider, attempting to beguile you while your head was still spinning. 

“I-I guess, maybe —” You stammered.

“Wonderful!” The eccentric woman’s eyes lit up like fireworks, cigarette-smoker’s voice becoming truly raucous in her delight. “I’ll go ahead and get started. You go get back to what it was you were doing before Lou and I interrupted you! And don’t worry about a thing! We might be old timers, but a good meal and good cheer never go out of style.” 

Mrs. Farrow laughed, pretending to shoo you away until you were back inside your apartment and she was pulling your door to a close for you. 

“Have a good night, honey! We’ll see you tomorrow! 6 o’clock, don’t be late!”

Before you knew it, you were staring at the back of your own door again. 

‘What the fuck just happened?’

[wosospacegirl]

Ohh I know ATWRreader would be sooo jealous abt this

Y/n had been excited to watch Kyra play.

Because of her injury, she wasn’t called up for yet another FIFA date, but at least she was allowed to travel with Kyra. 

They were staying in the same hotel room, and Y/n even got a free pass to watch the game from the family section. Y/n was actually happy. She was learning to enjoy not being on the pitch and just cheering.

Until that moment.

It happened midway through the second half. A tangle of legs, a misjudged pass, and Kyra went down–hard. Face-first. 

Y/n's heart jumped to her throat. She gripped the edge of the bench in the family section, tense, watching the scene unfold.

Before anyone else could react, Charli was there, kneeling beside Kyra. She helped her up, one arm around Kyra’s waist, her other hand so gently brushing at Kyra’s face. 

Y/n could see her lips moving–saying something comforting, no doubt–and Kyra just stood there. Serene. A small, crooked smile on her face.

Y/n narrowed her eyes. She didn’t even realize she was fuming until Mami’s wife’s voice broke through her thoughts. “She’s alright, I think.”

“She better be,” Y/n muttered under her breath.

Y/n didn’t wait for the game to end. She grabbed her bag and stormed back to their hotel room, needing space from the growing tension in her chest.

..

Back at the hotel, Kyra hummed softly as she unlocked the door, still a bit sore but in a happy mmo. She pushed the door open to find Y/n sprawled on the bed in her hoodie, arms crossed, lips set in a firm line.

“Hey,” Kyra greeted, toeing off her sneakers. “Why didn’t you wait for us?”

Y/n didn’t respond immediately. She just looked at her. Really looked. 

Dirt still clung faintly to the hem of Kyra’s shorts, and there was a tiny smudge near her temple–missed during the locker room cleanup.

“Do you seriously not know, Kyra?” Y/n asked, her voice quieter than she intended, though it still carried a sharp edge.

Kyra looked at her with the most innocent expression on her face, which made Y/n almost soften… almost.

“I’m just surprised you came to our room after the game instead of, I don’t know, going out to celebrate with Charli,” Y/n added.

Kyra blinked, clearly confused. “Huh?”

“Charli. Right there on the field. Everyone saw it,” Y/n continued, eyes narrowing.

Kyra smiled at her, still confused. “What are you talking about?”

Y/n turned her head, clearly annoyed now. “She was stroking your face, Kyra. With two hands. And you just stood there.”

Kyra took a second to process, then suddenly burst out laughing. “What?! Baby, she literally wiped dirt off my face. I fell. Flat. Like, chin-first.”

Y/n folded her arms tighter, not convinced. “Yeah, but she was way too gentle and way too close.”

“My love, she was close because her arms are not two kilometers long?” Kyra said, trying not to giggle.

Y/n wasn’t buying it. “She touched your nose, very, very softly–it was intimate.”

Kyra smiled softly and placed her hand on Y/n's. “My love, she’s a teammate. And a very close friend of mine.”

“Way too close,” Y/n murmured under her breath, though she couldn’t deny the feeling in her chest.

Kyra sat down beside her, bumping her shoulder against Y/n’s. “Come on. You’re not really jealous, are you?”

Y/n didn’t answer right away, her silence speaking volumes.

“Oh my God,” Kyra gasped, her eyes wide with realization. “You are. You’re mad because someone wiped mud off my face. That’s adorable.”

Y/n huffed, turning her head away, a little embarrassed. “I’m not mad. And I’m also not jealous. I just didn’t like it.”

Kyra smirked and leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Y/n’s ear. “Well, next time I faceplant, I’ll make sure you’re the one to clean me up. Deal?”

Y/n finally looked at her, her grumpy mask cracking into a small, reluctant smile. “Deal.”

Kyra grinned, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to Y/n’s cheek, sending a spark of warmth through her. Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. 

She let Kyra curl up beside her, arm wrapped gently around her waist, content.

Kyra’s lips brushed against Y/n’s temple as she shifted closer, brushing away that last trace of dirt Charli had missed. “Next time you fall,” Y/n murmured, her tone playful, “I’m bringing a whole towel.”

[teslasucks37]

can u write size kink/size difference with charlie where hes literally just sooo much bigger than reader :33

CW: NSFW under the cut (MDNI), afab!Reader (No pronouns), Short!Reader, Dom!Charlie, Horny!Reader, PainfullyBig!Charlie

A/N: This took way longer than anticipated so sorry 😭😭😭

Charlie Slimecicle x Reader

Size Kink Hcs!!!

You’d been teased for you height your whole life.

Being 5 foot was not for the weak.

Charlie was the only one who didn’t immediately point it out when you’d first met.

But sometimes you can feel his eyes on you, or when he’s standing super close you can feel his presence behind you.

Your head barely reaches up to his chin.

He’s nearly an entire foot taller than you.

Like most people he has to look down when he talks to you, but it’s different when it’s him.

His smile is so kind, so caring.

He’s like a gentle giant to you.

You wanna climb him like a fucking tree.

He put his hand on your shoulder one time and you had to try not to moan at how large it was, covering practically your entire shoulder blade.

How dare he be so hot?

With his huge shoulders and ginormous arms…

It just wasn’t fair.

He’d never really given it much thought, the height of people, but ever since he met you, it was the only thing he could think about.

How small you were compared to him.

How easy it would be to toss you around.

One time for a video he did end up tossing you around.

You were fucking soaked after that shoot, and anyone with eyes could see his boner.

So you went up to him after, asking if he wanted to hang out at your place later.

That, of course, leads to the two of you fucking.

“Oh my goddd!” You cry out as he sinks inside you.

He’s so fucking big, the stretch is almost painful.

Charlie struggles to keep his composure, not wanting to hurt you, but needing so badly to pound you.

He manages to hold the line, waiting until you’re wiggling against him, begging him to move.

Then he fucks you.

He fucks you good.

Charlie’s speed is cruel, wild, ravishing, but there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop him.

He’s just too big.

“Char- lieee- Ooohh- hoooh~” You whimper, your voice being cut in half by his thrusts.

His grip shifts to your thighs, pressing them into your chest and folding you in half.

He was through being gentle.

And you definitely weren’t complaining.

His angle made him go deeper inside you, his tip practically punching your cervix with every plunge.

He can’t talk, he can’t even think.

All that’s in his mind is how good your tight walls feel around him.

And how you’re practically screaming his name.

Your joints burn at the strength his big fucking muscular arms are exerting on your legs, stretching them beyond their usual function.

His body leaning over you, encompassing you entirely, makes your head spin and your pussy clench.

All that matters is how deep he is inside you.

His hips slap against your thighs, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

His pelvis bumps against your clit, making you squirm and wiggle.

Then suddenly his grip moves from your thighs to your hips, stopping your movement entirely.

“Stop wiggling.” He grunts out, too lost in pleasure to say it nicely.

Then he uses that grip on your hips to pull you into him, hard and fast and deep.

And that makes you lose it.

“Oh! Charlie~ Cumming- Cumming~ Fuckkk!” You pant out as you squirt around his cock, the pressure actually pushing him out of your pussy.

He chuckles darkly, bringing his cock to rest on your stomach as the final squeezes of your orgasm drip out.

Glancing down, you see his cock, large and wet and throbbing.

You hadn’t noticed it before.

Just how big his cock was.

You didn’t really have the time.

But fuck, that was inside you?”

It was almost as wide as your wrists…

It nearly reached up to your belly button.

Fuck, you would be so destroyed tomorrow.

But you didn’t even care.

Charlie would take care of you.

He was nice like that.

But he isn’t being so nice now as he slips back inside you without warning,

“Oh, fuck yeah~” He groans, setting his brutal pace once again.

He hits that same sweet spot inside you that no one had ever reached before, and you struggle not to cum again.

Moans are practically being pushed out of your lungs by his cock.

Seeing his cock slam in and out of you is probably one of the highlights of his life.

He can feel how he was stretching you, reaching so deep that he physically couldn’t go past a certain point.

Knowing that he completely fills you up floods his senses with pride.

He wants to fill you up for real.

His desperation increases in his thrusts, you can see it on his face too.

Charlie’s brows are scrunched in concentration.

“Cum, Char~” You whimper out, gripping at his large arms.

A grin takes over his face as he plunges inside of you, deep as he can, making you yelp.

He groans out in relief, finally cumming inside that tight pussy.

What he’s been dreaming of doing for practically months.

His hips stutter, twitching as his cock empties itself inside you.

You can see it bulging slightly out of your stomach.

You feverishly press your fingertips to it, making Charlie whimper at the sensitivity.

A satisfied grin curls onto your lips, your fingers trailing down his biceps that are slick with sweat.

He pants above you, his arms trembling under your touch.

You let out a tiny giggle, as much as you can with his massive cock still pressing against your insides.

He slowly slides out of you at that.

You take a deep breath, feeling so empty, but so full as you feel his cum drip out of you.

Charlie lays down next to you on your bed, exhausted, as he pulls you close to him. “Are you okay? Did I… Go too hard?”

You chuckle. “Well, I’ll probably be sore tomorrow, but it was totally worth it.”

He grins as you lean in and press a kiss on his lips.

He kisses you back, and you fall asleep together.

He would be wrecking your insides a lot more often.